


The Aftermath

by A_Horse_Called_Hwin



Category: Spider-Man (Movies - Raimi), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 64,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1280137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Horse_Called_Hwin/pseuds/A_Horse_Called_Hwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You really thought you could just be a jerk with no consequences?" </p><p>The aftermath of the Spider-Man 3 events. Peter realizes that he needs more luck than he thought; meanwhile, Harry struggles to save Oscorp from a Peter-induced disaster. Peter/Harry slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which We Take a Look at What Harry & Co. Have Been Doing

**Author's Note:**

> All companies appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real companies, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
> 
> This story is based on a setting co-created with Aayla Security.

“The Board of Directors hereby grants you a second chance as the Chief Executive Officer of the Company.”

Harry released a quiet sigh of relief at the verdict as the Chair, John Morgan, announced the Board’s decision.

So Peter, his best friend, his _brother_ , was Spider-Man, the monster who killed his father.

_You’re the only family I have._

He was an idiot to think Peter Parker was anything more than what he really was: a shameless, coldblooded murderer. Parker took his father’s love from him, so he took M.J. from Parker, which was regrettably immature and vindictive, he must admit. Then M.J. realized her heart’s desire and left him for Parker. He didn’t mind, not after the initial shock, and they even had a friendly breakup. But the bug then decided to take his father from him _permanently_ , right after he found out his father still loved him.

His so-called friendship with Parker was one screwed-up mess.

 _And_ that was only part of the problem he faced right now. He’d funded the wrong scientist, the wrong project, and now Oscorp was in a shambles and its stock price was just heartbreaking to look at. How could he be so stupid and believe Oscorp would achieve fame and fortune so easily when his whole life had been anything but easy?

Well, back to the drawing board. No point whining when there was his dad’s legacy to save.

He’d take care of the revenge business later.

“Do keep in mind, however,” the Vice Chair, John Andreoni, added, “that your failure with Otto Octavius was unprecedented, unforgivable. The opportunity given to you now is not to be taken lightly.”

“I understand,” said Harry earnestly.

“Very well, then.” Morgan nodded and turned to the entire Board, “The Chair declares the meeting adjourned.”

Harry didn’t dare leave the boardroom until all the Board members had left, if only to show his respect (and fear) for them. After the last member of the Board walked out of the room, Harry started to turn off all the lights as it was almost midnight.

“That was a close call, eh, Boss?” a worldly voice spoke from the door.

Harry turned to greet his middle-aged executive assistant. Joe Kramer was a man in his fifties who was tall, stocky and slightly overweight. But contrary to first impressions, he was surprisingly healthy and could be fast in movement if he so desired. Having been the executive assistant of Harry’s father as well, he knew everything there was to know about Oscorp.

“Actually, Joe,” Harry walked towards the boardroom door to switch off the last of the lights, “isn’t it just like them to be bloodcurdling but fair?”

-:-

“Looks like you’ll live another day.”

Dr. Goldberg then informed Harry of the car accident and cheerfully told him someone had been waiting outside.

Probably Peter. He did that all the time.

When the doctor asked Harry if he wanted to talk to his waiting friend, he gladly said yes. Goldberg smiled, “I’ll let him in after you get a few minutes of rest.”

Harry watched the good doctor go and relaxed into the hospital pillows under his head, ready to fall asleep.

He was almost in Sleep Land when Goldberg returned, sooner than expected, and offered him the handset of a cordless phone.

“Someone insists on talking to you,” the doctor explained apologetically, clearly disgruntled that the caller had forced him to disturb his patient’s rest.

Surprised, Harry took the phone and the doctor promptly exited the room again.

“Hel –”

“So you had an accident, Harry?” The voice belonged to an old man who he could tell was very unsatisfied right now.

“Uh…yeah? May I ask who’s –”

“And you _don’t_ remember anything between your father’s death and your accident?”

“No, I guess – wait, _what_?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

Harry took a deep breath and tried to calm himself; this was ridiculous. “What I meant was, what do you mean by my father’s _death_?”

“Harry,” the old voice said condescendingly, “your father’s been dead for quite some time now.”

The old man then muttered something about “youthful irresponsibility”, but Harry only vaguely heard what he was saying.

_No…_

_This guy is wrong. Dad’s **fine**. He’s just –_

But Harry knew it was true. Maybe it was because of the blunt, matter-of-fact way the old man on the phone said it, or maybe because, somewhere in his mind, he knew it all along.

Closing his eyes weakly, Harry took a shuddering breath, pain and grief gripping his heart. His father, his _dad_ , was gone. Had been gone. For a long time.

Getting no response from the victim of amnesia, the old man waited patiently for a while before he said: “I’ll send Joe Kramer over after you’re released from the hospital, and he’ll tell you what you need to know – help you refresh your memory a little, so to speak. If you’re suspicious about the information we provide, you can ask your butler for verification.”

“Thank you, sir.” said Harry as he reopened his eyes, barely collected himself. Joe Kramer? Wasn’t he his dad’s executive assistant? “I really appreciate it,” he managed to force some cheerfulness he didn’t feel into his voice.

But the person on the other end was obviously not amused as Harry heard an impatient sigh, one that often expresses frustration over someone’s stupidity. Then the voice said, more than a little annoyed, “We will speak again after you get home.”

“Okay, bye –”

The old man had already hung up.

Harry stared at the phone in confusion at the caller’s bad mood before a nurse came in and he returned the handset to her.

After the nurse left, he wondered what his life had been like. The doctor said he got some kind of memory loss, which was true enough; the last thing he remembered was his dad promising to make everything right between them again.

_I’m proud of you._

Sighing and feeling tired, he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes again, thankful that no one would see the tears that finally came.

Dr. Goldberg came back after a few minutes and asked gently, “Ready to see your friend now?”

-:-

“So you’re saying I’m the current CEO of Oscorp, Mr. Kramer?”

“Yes, Boss.”

Harry studied the long and painfully detailed list of events that he should know about his professional life as he sat down on a bench wearily.

Immediately after he was released from the hospital, he asked Peter, who’d volunteered to accompany him home, to let him visit his father’s grave first. “It’s been the only thing on my mind these days,” he’d explained quietly, the sorrow at his father’s death now a constant ache in his chest. Peter nodded, understanding as always, and took him to where his father was buried.

Harry had accepted the sad truth, but he still couldn’t control the tears in his eyes as he stood before his dad’s grave.

However, his mourning was cut short by the abrupt appearance of Joe Kramer at the cemetery, sent by Oscorp’s Board of Directors, to inform him of his “professional obligations and duties”.

“Do you, by any chance, know anything about my _personal_ life?” Harry asked as he put down the list, feeling the beginning of a headache.

“Well, I _am_ an informed man with many connections,” Mr. Kramer said in a manner that only smug middle-aged people extremely pleased with their professional prowess could, “but I think you should ask someone actually _from_ your personal life.” He then eyed Peter briefly, who was standing a few feet away so they could have some privacy.

“Oh. Right.”

The problem with asking Peter was he seemed uneasy and anxious whenever Harry brought up questions about the senior Osborn.

“And by the way, the Board’s decided to give you three weeks to recover your memory.”

“But if I didn’t after three weeks?”

“The Board would look for someone else fitting for the job.”

Perhaps it had something to do with his attachment to Oscorp, Harry felt a surge of sadness at the idea of the company being taken away from him. “Okay…”

The words “the Board” sent a chill down his spine every time he heard them. Which was kind of stupid, considering the fact that those Board members were just a bunch of business guys. How scary could they be?

-:-

Very scary, apparently.

Turned out the short-tempered, unsatisfied old man who called him in the hospital was one Bob Schneider, member of the Board. And, as he promised, he called yet again after Harry got home and told him the Board had decided that, since their CEO had “displayed an unfortunate tendency to be involved in untimely accidents”, Harry was not to cross any street or ride in any vehicle until further notice. In other words, he was grounded on this side of the road.

Unusual as the instruction was, Harry saw no reason to object since the good people of the Board were only worried about his wellbeing, right? He couldn’t blame people for caring.

Besides, they probably didn’t need the press picking up on their CEO’s head injury. The last thing they needed right now was reporters swarming the Oscorp Building.

But as time went by, Harry started to grow increasingly bored and restless. Anywhere he went outside his home, Tim, his dad’s trusty chauffeur, always followed him closely and looked like he was prepared to sacrifice himself should any accident come his employer’s way.

Harry had tried to make him stop following him around like a paranoid bodyguard, but Tim insisted it was the Board’s direct order. Harry tried to reason he wasn’t crossing any street anyway, but Tim reminded him this was New York and dangerous things roamed the sidewalk all the time. Harry then said if something did happen to him, he wouldn’t want Tim to “sacrifice” himself, but then Tim said it’d be an honor to die for Norman Osborn’s only child. When Tim put it that way, how could Harry have anything to say? He understood the chauffeur’s undying devotion; his dad was extraordinary. So Harry gave up on going out and decided to stay home, just to make sure a perfectly decent man like Tim wouldn’t get himself killed.

Peter, as usual, never returned his calls because he was _busy_. M.J. only got in touch when she needed something. And Aunt May was, well, Aunt May – her priority list was rather obvious:

Peter and Uncle Ben

Mary Jane

Little boy next door

Little girl living next to the little boy next door

Newspaper Boy

Mail Carrier

Garbage Guy

.

.

.

Pizza Guy

.

.

.

Harry Osborn

Harry wondered what he’d done to deserve this from the people that were supposed to be his friends. He had a hunch that he was on the bottom of _everyone’s_ priority list. Looking back, he noticed rather bitterly that, whatever he did, in their eyes he was always the one to be blamed for any unpleasantness happened in his presence.

It seemed that he’d gotten pretty good at lying to himself that he meant as much to Peter Parker as Peter Parker meant to him.

The only people Harry got to talk to these days were Bernard, kind and always there, Tim, loyal and lived just three floors below, Joe (he really wasn’t used to being on a first-name basis with his dad’s executive assistant, but since Mr. Kramer insisted…oh well) and, of course, the Board.

Speaking of the Board of Directors, even though Harry was initially crept out by them, he now hoped they would call more often – not that he’d gone insane or anything, but at least the Board, just like Bernard and Tim and the rest of the folks at Oscorp, treated him like someone that mattered (their legal consultant Bob Lee even sent him a fruit basket while he was in the hospital). At least they contacted him, sometimes even visited him in person.

…Okay, maybe he _had_ gone insane, just a little.

Thanks to his memory loss, Harry was deemed “essentially unqualified to work” by the Board, but they still kept him updated, however clueless he was. He suspected that they did all this for him only as a courtesy to their founder, his dad.

Thinking about his father always made Harry’s heart heavy with grief.

They were both disappointed, he and his father. The senior Osborn was disappointed that his son hadn’t inherited his gift for science, and Harry was disappointed that his father never bothered to try to understand. However hard he tried, he couldn’t be who his father wanted him to be. He just didn’t have it in him. Mutual disappointment hung between them like a wall that neither tried to break.

When one of those miracles of life finally happened and his dad promised to make amends, he was taken away from him.

Since his mother left them for another guy when he was five, he and his dad had clung to each other like shipwreck survivors, finding solace in the warmth of their love. Even when Oscorp grew and Harry entered his teenage years and tension strained their bond, his dad was always there when he needed him, supportive or not. The chief executive of Oscorp didn’t have much time for his family, but he gave Harry the comforting knowledge that he was _there_ , would never leave even when everyone else did. He was the one constant in Harry’s life whereas people found it easy to cast Harry aside. Including Peter.

Aaand this started to sound like whining.

After wallowing in depression and dwelling on how pathetic his life actually was, Harry decided he was now suffering from an extreme case of cabin fever, and he needed to _get out_. And cross the street.

He knew it was a petty act of self-indulgence, but he called it an assertion of self. Or a cry of freedom from a much abused soul.

And he couldn’t believe he just thought that.

-:-

There were people everywhere. Harry concluded that crossing the street _was_ a good idea, after all. Looking at the joy and Spider-Cheer, he didn’t feel depressed anymore – he still had Bernard, to say the least. Not to mention he’d managed to sneak past Tim while the selfless chauffeur was taking a nap.

Harry bet Peter was also here; everyone knew how close Peter and Spider-Man were. It was kind of ironic, really. Peter and a _superhero_ were closer than Peter and him, and they were supposed to be “best friends”.

 _Better not go down that slippery slope again._ Harry warned himself with a disheartened sigh. _It’ll only make you depressed. Again._

Now, since Peter was definitely here, and he was with Mary Jane…

Exactly. There she was. Looking…pissed? But then again, she was always unhappy about _something_.

Okay, that was insensitive and unfair; M.J. didn’t exactly lead an ideal life. Perhaps he should go cheer her up, just like friends would. And who knew? He just might find Peter yet.

-:-

It was a…Sandman? Anyway, the name of the supervillain aside, Harry and Mary Jane were surrounded by people screaming and running. He was about to suggest that they go somewhere safe when a familiar voice halted him.

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry involuntarily took in a mouthful of cold air and turned around in horror, “Mr. Schneider!”

Bob Schneider looked positively displeased. And unsatisfied. “It’s good to see you out and about.”

Harry knew he’d better change subject fast. “You here to see Spider-Man, too?”

“I’m here to see our CEO.” Mr. Schneider said slowly, emphasizing every syllable, deliberately conveying the message: We knew you would be here and you truly never disappoint.

How could the Board member be so calm when it was all screaming and pushing and _sandstorm_? He didn’t even bat an eye when the giant mass of sand soared past them over their heads.

Harry didn’t know what to say to him. Maybe the only wise thing to do was drop to his knees and beg for absolution?

“You wouldn’t mind a little stroll, _would_ you, Harry?”

“No, no, of course not!” Harry said quickly, then turned to Mary Jane, who was slightly puzzled but wisely decided to stay out of this, “I’ll see you around, M.J.”

M.J. nodded and gave him a sympathetic look.

-:-

After the commotion of the Sandman (Harry just _knew_ that would be the name the press eventually decided on), a “stroll” and a spine-chilling conversation, Harry dutifully went home.

Bob Schneider was one creepy old man when he wasn’t pleased; he just gave Harry the passive-aggressive talk to end all passive-aggressive talks.

Joe must have been joking when he said Harry and the Board used to be on a first-name basis. Harry would never _dream_ of calling the Board member “Bob”. That was just crazy. And suicidal.

“I’m beginning to see a pattern, Bernard.” Harry said as he took off his shoes in the foyer while Bernard closed the front door

“And what might that be, sir?”

“Every time I try to take a chance, it always backfires right back at me.”

“The way of life, I suppose. May I ask…if there was any consequence?”

“I’m now officially grounded inside this residence and ‘shall not leave until further notice’.”

“‘Until further notice’ again?”

“Yeah, I’m under house arrest. Oh joy.”

-:-

Harry found that once he’d accepted his boring fate, it actually wasn’t all that bad. Sure he couldn’t even go out anymore, but he’d learned to entertain himself with his surroundings and cope with boredom without being depressed (for too long).

Having nothing better to do in the meantime, Harry decided to build a crossbow out of broken electronic equipments that his father kept around for spare parts. Bernard always hid them strategically from sight for his love of a clean and tidy Osborn Mansion. And he’d succeeded. No outsider would be able to tell there were old electronics all over the place.

Harry was by no means a scientist, or a genius, but he was good at building stuff. Gadgets, robots, weird gizmos that turned out to be just super-advanced nightlights. His dad used to lament how God had a cruel sense of humor and, of all his many talents for various sciences, endowed his son only with his _mechanical_ inclination.

But after the crossbow was complete, Harry once again found himself with nothing to do.

Turning the crossbow in his hands, he heard the sounds of Bernard moving about outside the workshop. He wasn’t sure why, but his hearing seemed to have improved. He could always hear Bernard’s movement in the mansion, sure, but never so clearly that he could tell when Bernard exhaled in weariness or paused to take a brief break from all the responsibilities of the mansion. He could tell Bernard got tired more easily than before.

His father’s passing away and his own brush with death had reminded Harry just how frail human life could be. Now, listening to the very proof of Bernard’s age catching up with him, he was acutely aware of his beloved butler’s mortality.

He glanced at their old desktop computer in the corner.

-:-

Bernard just came out of the kitchen when he saw Harry standing in the middle of the living room, a nervous smile on his face.

“Is there something I could do for you, sir?”

Harry took a deep breath and said with a hint of excitement, “Bernard, I would like you to meet our newest member of the family.” He then stepped aside to reveal the small pile of metal and wires behind him. “Crossbow-1.” he pronounced proudly.

It took Bernard a few seconds to understand why the pile had a name _and_ was named the latest addition to the family – it was a robot.

Crossbow-1 was a fitting name. The construction of the little robot was based entirely on the crossbow that the young master built a few days ago. It only reached Harry’s knees, and was clearly still a work-in-progress as its wires and chipsets were all exposed to the extent that Bernard could tell which parts of the robot were from which equipments.

Bernard didn’t want to admit this, but Crossbow-1 truly looked like the disastrous result of throwing various electronic devices into a blender. It didn’t even have matching “eyes” on its head.

Harry gave the robot a gentle nudge, and Crossbow-1 tentatively rolled towards Bernard on the small wheels it had at the bottom. It whistled and beeped – Bernard didn’t think he was imagining it making sounds resembling those of R2-D2 – as it reached Bernard and looked up at him uncertainly. But how could it have facial expressions without a complete face?

Bernard looked from Crossbow-1 to Harry, and realized they were both anxiously awaiting his reaction. He was reminded of the last time the young master presented his handiwork (a wires-covered bouncy ball with an advanced homing system) to his father. Mr. Osborn wasn’t too thrilled by the purely mechanical device, but he wasn’t uninterested, either. He’d examined the bouncy ball passively and remarked that, though it wasn’t something as exciting or profound as physical sciences, he was pleased his son at least had his talent for mechanics and weaponry. Harry was relieved, the smallest praise or approval from his father could light up his day immeasurably.

“Harry,” Bernard smiled at the little robot and its maker, “he’s adorable.” _He_ because if the young master built Crossbow-1 to sound like Artoo, then it was most certainly a _he_. Harry was enthusiastic about _Star Wars_ like that.

Harry let out the breath he’d been visibly holding, while Crossbow-1 released a metallic noise that sounded very much like the robotic version of a relieved sigh.

Bernard couldn’t help but smile, feeling a fondness for the small robot. Although Crossbow-1 wasn’t particularly good-looking, he was indeed quite lovely and charming in his own little way.

“Thanks, Bernard.” Harry said, relieved, “I mean, yeah, he does look like the Metal Disaster from Hell, but he’s still lovable.”

“Very, sir.” Bernard said, gently patting Crossbow-1 on the head, who took that as a sign of acceptance and happily leaned his head against Bernard’s knee. “Are those chipsets from the old computer?”

“Yep,” Harry nodded, then added with pride, “Did I mention he’s solar-powered?”

Bernard chuckled, “And you’ve created an artificial intelligence.” He glanced at the obviously sentient Crossbow-1 and was fairly impressed.

“Nah, it was an accident.” Harry said, trying not to look _too_ delighted at the compliment, “I was just lucky.”

But then he tensed up and glanced at Crossbow-1 hesitantly before looking at Bernard again. Bernard recognized the tensed posture and hesitation – insecurity. The young master seemed to be mustering up his courage and steeling himself for something. He then looked resolute, having apparently made up his mind.

“He’s for you, Bernard!” Harry blurted out.

Bernard was surprised. “For me?”

Crossbow-1 had looked up at the exchange as well, curiosity in his eyes.

Harry nodded, still tense and anxious, and started what amounted to “spilling his guts”: “Yeah, well, you know, you’ve always been taking care of me, of the family, and I know how lonely and _boring_ it sometimes can get just staying in this place all by yourself. Not that I’m going anywhere any time soon. I know he’s almost ugly – hell, he’s downright _hideous_ , but he’s well-mannered and harmless and he’s programmed to follow _you_ and be all attached to you and things like that. I just thought you might appreciate a little company.”

After he was done, Harry waited anxiously, as if anticipating rejection.

The hasty speech filled Bernard’s old heart with warmth. “I do, as a matter of fact. Very much.”

Harry’s face brightened and his shoulders sagged in relief.

“Thank you, Harry.” Bernard smiled at him, touched.

Harry returned the smile wholeheartedly, and then he stepped forward and hugged Bernard.

“You’re welcome,” the young master murmured as he tightened his arms, a gesture which the old butler warmly returned.

For the first time since he lost his memory, there was genuine happiness on Harry’s face, and Bernard was glad.

-:-

The next morning found Harry reading the _Wall Street Journal_ in the dining room. Not that he was especially fond of the newspaper – he still couldn’t believe that _he_ , of all people, used to read _Wall Street Journal_ regularly before he hit his head – but you couldn’t be too picky and choosy when you had nothing better to do.

Right next to him, Crossbow-1 was enjoying the morning sun beside the large windows, charging with his solar panels splayed open. Relaxed and content.

Harry sighed; if only his life could be so simple.

To his satisfaction, Bernard and Crossbow-1 had quickly become attached to each other, and the little guy now followed Bernard around and helped him with his work. Harry was confident that, before long, Crossbow-1 would be able to do most of the stuff for Bernard, and all Bernard would need to do was supervise.

Bernard had given Crossbow-1 a nickname: Charlie. According to him, he picked “Charlie” because it was the first name that came to his mind which started with a “C”. Harry thought the random nickname was a good choice. He’d chosen “Crossbow-1” only because “crossbow” was the first thing that came to _his_ mind when he laid eyes on the little guy.

Now that Harry thought about it, “Crossbow-1” probably wasn’t the best of names. It was straight to the point, but too obvious. Then again, he always knew he sucked at naming.

“If I may, sir,” Bernard put down a plate of breakfast in front of him, “For what reason did you build a crossbow in the first place?”

“Well,” answered Harry, shrugging, “I was thinking of using that crossbow to get rid of some spiders.”

Bernard’s eyebrows rose slightly, but other than that, he remained calm and composed.

“Spiders, sir?”

“Yeah, we’ve got plenty of those here.” Harry put down the newspaper, “I never minded them before, but now I find them extremely annoying.”

“So they are,” Bernard agreed casually, though Harry got the distinct impression that the casualness was somewhat forced.

Charlie suddenly straightened up, solar panels folding back in, and a blue ray fanning out 60 degrees emitted from his front panel. Harry recognized it as the activation of Spider-Scanner, his pride and joy (okay, _Charlie_ was his pride and joy, but Spider-Scanner was a close second), which meant the ever diligent, ever _vigilant_ Spider-Detector was working at full blast.

…All right, he _definitely_ sucked at naming.

As Charlie swept his surroundings with the Spider-Scanner’s blue ray, he gradually approached a bookshelf. Bernard seemed puzzled and on the verge of asking what the little robot was doing.

_Bang!_

Charlie fired a homemade bolt from his crossbow towards one of the corners of the ceiling. Bernard was shocked and looked like he almost had a heart attack, and Harry realized he probably should have given him a heads up _before_ he was hit in the face with Charlie’s spider-killing. As much as Harry didn’t want to acknowledge it, Bernard was now an old man.

He shoved the unpleasant thought aside and stood up to inspect the bolt instead.

After Harry was done programming Charlie, he got lazy so the crossbow bolts were all sloppily made from scrap metal. At least they worked okay. Without a doubt, the bolt had pierced through the body of a spider. He smiled and patted Charlie’s head proudly, “Good shot, Charlie.”

Charlie whistled and beeped smugly before returning to his sunny spot by the windows.

Bernard seemed to have recovered from the fright. He cleared his throat softly, “Is that why I no longer see spiders in the mansion, sir?”

“Most likely. Charlie was a spider hunter bot before I made him sentient.” Yeah, so, that probably wasn’t such a good idea when Charlie was supposed to be _Bernard’s_ constant companion. He should’ve made Charlie a…flower-planting bot. Or golfer bot. You know, something peaceful and fitting for senior citizens.

“That was, very creative of you, Harry.” Bernard then went into the kitchen, vaguely apprehensive.

Harry frowned as he picked up the newspaper again. He couldn’t for the life of him recall why he now hated spiders, or was it something _related_ to spiders that he wanted dead?

Why did Bernard look so worried about his newfound dislike for spiders?

-:-

Bernard had banished Harry from the kitchen after he nearly burned down the whole place during his cooking attempt. Not that Harry liked cooking in any way, oh no, his life was just too dull at the moment that he had to try _something_ without crossing the borders of the Osborn residence.

Perhaps he could build another robot? Never mind. He preferred Charlie to be the one and only sentient robot of the family; the little guy deserved that much. Besides, he didn’t think Bernard’s old heart could stand two robots rolling around the house.

So no more A.I.s. Then maybe a non-sentient robot? For reasons he had yet to remember, Harry liked the idea of building a robot whose sole function was hunting down spiders.

Huge spiders, even.

Better yet, human spiders.

…Wait, wasn’t that _Spider-Man_?

Why would he want to hunt down Spider-Man? There _was_ something about the guy Harry didn’t like, but not to the point to actually send a killer robot after him.

Unable to remember much in the meantime, Harry admitted defeat and went into his study to begin drawing the design of his brand new Amazing Spider-Killing Machine – only for killing regular spiders, of course.

Huh, that could be the title for a comic book series. Just sayin’.

But in the end, his Amazing Spider-Killing Machine never even had its blueprint finished. After he told Bernard about his spectacular project at dinner, the thoughtful butler became concerned. Soon afterwards, Bernard announced that he had decided to lock down Harry’s study along with all his tools and designs. He then assured Harry he was doing this for Harry’s sake, because focusing on killing and death couldn’t be good for his health.

There went his boredom-killer.

Harry knew Bernard was just worried about him (for whatever reason he wouldn’t let on), so he nodded understandingly and surrendered to his boring fate once more.

“Sir, you might want to rediscover your talent in painting, perhaps?” Bernard suggested as he cleared the table.

“Please, Bernard,” Harry laughed self-deprecatingly. He knew Bernard was somehow desperate to find him a “healthy” pastime, but not _that_ desperate. “Have you seen my old ‘masterpieces’? They’re like deranged drawings from a nightmare.”

“You were five years old,”

“AndI took the lessons only because it was what my mom wanted.” Harry couldn’t help but snort inwardly at the thought of his uncharitable mother, for whom he had an equally uncharitable title: The Bitch.

“This is not about the former Mrs. Osborn, Harry,” said Bernard gently, knowing all too well the bitterness and anger his mother could provoke in him. “This is about you doing what you enjoy.”

“And I don’t enjoy painting,” Harry said emphatically, “I was young and stupid. I wanted to make Mother _Dearest_ happy.” Which was decidedly a complete waste of time. The end result was him sitting through hours of boring painting lessons while his artsy mother didn’t appreciate what he had to go through to please her. And she wasn’t even pleased. His mom really didn’t deserve his childhood attachment.

Bernard smiled understandingly.

Oh. His internal whining was that obvious?

Clearing his throat in embarrassment, Harry forced his thoughts back to painting and Bernard and Bernard trying to talk him into painting. He didn’t find painting appealing when he was five, and he definitely didn’t find it appealing now. Painting was _boring_ , and he had just about zero interest in it. But this was Bernard, so he considered.

Nope. Still didn’t feel like painting.

“Bernard, I haven’t touched a paintbrush ever since my mom ditched us. And even _then_ I sucked at it.”

“All the more reason to improve your skills, then.”

“Did I mention that I don’tenjoy painting?”

“I believe in miracles, sir.” Bernard sounded sincere and just this side of desperate.

Harry sighed in resignation. He hated it when Bernard did the emotional manipulation thing, because he’d never be able to say no. “You want to make sure I wouldn’t find a way to get past the lock, don’t you?”

Bernard only gave him a noncommittal yet somehow earnest inclination of the head and returned to the kitchen.

On the next day, having reread _The Wall Street Journal_ five times, Harry finally decided to give painting a shot. Not that he’d changed his mind about painting, but at least it was better than reading over and over again about how the Fed wanted to get a pound of flesh out of Ken Lewis. Okay, the Shakespeare reference was kind of funny, but also a little disturbing.

Harry found that one corner of the living room had been set up as a temporary painting studio. Well, Bernard had actually got the whole thing ready for him. Frustrated but resigned, he picked up one of the many paintbrushes and examined it.

He suddenly had a flash of genius and knew exactly what he wanted to paint.

-:-

Charlie was rolling around the mansion. It’d been three days since he was “born” and he still wasn’t done exploring. This place was _huge._

Bernard said he’d be back after going to a place called “post office” and Harry had decided to take a break from painting. Actually, it was more like “take a nap”. Now that he thought about it, his maker had been sleeping quite a lot lately. Maybe he had that thing called “cabin fever”. Excessive sleeping _was_ one of the common symptoms, after all.

Charlie gave an electronic hum when he spotted the painting Harry had been working on all day. He then whistled in amazement as he noticed it was the detailed design of an _amazing_ spider-killing machine’s interior. He knew it was spider-killing because his maker had even painted a big fat red-blue spider that was pierced in the middle with its blood spilled everywhere.

According to the National Geographic Channel, spiders had blue or green blood. Funny how this one’s was red.

-:-

When he woke up from his nap, Harry noticed his painting of the Amazing Spider-Killing Machine had been taken away by Bernard. Knowing this was coming, he shrugged and went back to the temporary studio in the living room, intended to paint another one.

As it turned out, Bernard had not only taken away his design but also pointedly put a large vase and some fruits on a small table, complete with a cloth.

 _Fine, Bernard, I get your point_ .

Harry sighed, wondering why Bernard never had a problem with his _dad_ making all those weapons, and studied the vase and fruits. He soon found that he had no desire to paint these objects.

Well, better than nothing. Harry gave himself a mental pat on the back as he started painting.

-:-

He was halfway there when the phone rang. Surprised, he put the paintbrush down and answered the phone, wondering who it could be. He just got off the phone with Joe five minutes ago, and the Board wouldn’t call him until tomorrow.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Harry, it’s M.J.”

And of course it was Mary Jane. Who else could have called, anyway? Definitely not Peter “I’m too busy to remember my best friend’s existence” Parker.

“I need some company…”

And _of course_ she needed something.

See, that was the problem with being too perceptive. When Harry made those depressing assessments of his friends, he was hoping he was _wrong_ about them. But no. He was always right, always sadly accurate.

Story of his life.

“Are you doing anything? Can I stop by?”

“Yeah, sure, come on over.”

At least cheering Mary Jane up was better than painting. Besides, since Bernard had taken Charlie to the robot exhibition at Rockefeller Center, the kitchen was practically unguarded. Perhaps he could cheer her up there. What could possibly go wrong?

-:-

Holy shit.

The government inspection was yesterday. Why couldn’t he recover his memory _earlier_? The Board must be so pissed at him right now, and Morgan probably wanted to skin him alive. Not that Harry blamed them, it wasn’t everyday that CEOs ran off getting their heads hit and rendering themselves unfit to show up at facility inspections. But he was confident the inspection went okay; Joe was more than capable of handling those holier-than-thou agency schmucks. And, if all failed, Phil could make up the best bullshit in town – his CFO was good like that.

Harry decided he should tell Joe to send in the contracts with Epsilon and schedule a meeting with the Board…

Jesus _Christ_.

Harry was worried not because Schneider might go around telling fellow Board members how stupid and _pathetic_ their CEO had been without full memory. He knew he wouldn’t. He was worried because Bob Schneider had always been one of those people who’d remember every detail of your wrongdoing even after decades, who let the annoyance and displeasure build up until they found the earliest opportunity available and _explode_.

He was worried because he just _knew_ Schneider would give him hell next time he saw him.

He’d better discuss his impending doom with Joe, who hopefully hadn’t lost all respect for him since he’d already seen his boss embarrass himself numerous times. Probably more times than ideal.

And don’t get him started on that sickening, shameless Peter “Spider-Man” Parker. The very thought of that bug-wannabe disgusted him.

But he did feel bad about M.J. kissing him. Then again, it wasn’t like he _asked_ to be kissed or something – _M.J._ kissed _him_. He was just, dear god, _painting_ and answering the phone and then trying to cheer her up. But still. No matter how much Parker deserved to die, he wanted nothing to do with his relationship problems. He might give Parker the wrong idea so he could get to him, but not _actually_ take away his girlfriend, though the bug had no qualms about taking away M.J. when she was _his_ girlfriend.

Now there was an idea.

Anyway, time to get things organized. Call Joe, look at the contracts, talk to the Board, hopefully survive Schneider’s wrath, and clean up the kitchen. Oscorp wasn’t going to revive itself.

He’d take care of the revenge business later.

-:-

Bernard had an ominous feeling all evening.

The young master had recovered his memory recently. Although he put Oscorp before vengeance, the fact he insisted that Bernard should take Charlie to the Empire State Building and enjoy the night view tonight was rather troubling.

Beside Bernard, Charlie was making robotic sounds of appreciation at the sight of numerous lights blinking below them.

-:-

Bernard was about to enter their apartment building with Charlie when he noticed shards of shattered glass on the ground. Fearful of what that might mean, he looked up at the Osborn Mansion located at the top of the building.

Charlie was scanning the glass shards when Bernard started running. The little robot whirred in surprise and followed.

Bernard ran as fast as his old bones allowed, all the while praying Harry was all right. He punched the elevator button harder than necessary, and was thankful that the building used high-speed elevators.

As he and Charlie finally reached the top floor and rushed into the mansion, the little robot beeped in panic and rolled into the study.

The study, usually clean and orderly, was now a disturbing mess and Harry was nowhere to be seen. Bernard took in the smashed balcony doors and windows, the broken pieces of furniture and décor – the mirror concealing the passage to the laboratory had been shattered.

Charlie suddenly gave an urgent whistle and went into the passageway. Bernard, taking a shuddering breath, quickly followed behind.

-:-

Harry was woken by the feel of cool metal touching his hand and Charlie’s distressed whirring. Tired and in pain, he opened his eyes and saw Charlie worriedly nudging his hand with his small head.

“It’s okay, little guy,” he whispered hoarsely, “I’m fine.”

When he saw the sad look on Bernard’s face, he knew he wasn’t.

-:-

This was not the first time Harry suspected that Parker had somehow bribed Bernard into siding with him, which was a low and filthy tactic, not to mention shameless and undignified. And very appropriately Peter Parker-style.

“The blade that pierced his body came from his Glider. I know you’re trying to defend your father’s honor, but there’s no question that he died by his own hands.”

Oh, shit.

“I loved your father, as I love you, Harry. As your friends love you.”

Not the emotional manipulation again. But Bernard was a master, so Harry didn’t even stand a chance, as much as he appreciated Bernard’s sincere declaration of affection (he loved Bernard, too). He nodded.

He had no choice but to – _wait_ a minute.

“Actually, that’s debatable.” Harry said. He’d finally found the huge, glaring loophole in Bernard’s argument that he _knew_ was there. “That lowlife Peter Parker could have just used the Glider as a weapon and pierced my father with it.”

Bernard became silent. Then he relented, “Truth be told, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice that.”

“So he did bribe you.” Harry stated dryly.

“No,” Bernard shook his head, “I was bribed by my conscience.”

Harry sighed. Not again.

Seeing Harry’s stubbornness, Bernard, presumably taking a different approach, simply left the secret lab after a brief bow of the head.

Well, that was weird. Harry stared at Bernard’s retreating back, surprised he just gave up so easily. But then again, he didn’t exactly give up; he merely employed an all-new method – which was doomed to fail – to shake Harry’s resolution to leave Peter Parker to die.

Speaking of leaving people to die, Parker didn’t leave him to die after he’d hit his head (all thanks to Parker for making him hit his head in the first place, by the way). Although Parker may have done it out of much deserved guilt, he did save Harry’s life by sending him to the hospital.

Perhaps Harry should return the favor?

With due consideration, _no_.

Unlike that one time where he hit his head, _he_ wasn’t responsible for the danger Parker was in now. Besides, all of Parker’s past crimes aside, the bug had mocked his father’s memory and gifted him with so presentable a face that the Company’s stock price would just _soar_ after the Shareholders took a look at it. Did he mention his right eye was now completely, irreversibly, _noticeably_ blind?

Sighing bitterly, Harry didn’t dare imagine what the Board would say once they saw Parker’s work of art.

So, would he go risk his life for someone who’d wronged him in every possible way right from the beginning of their “friendship”?

Of course.

It was _Peter_. He couldn’t just leave that idiot to die, never mind he might have killed his father, tainted his father’s memory, scarred his face, ruined Oscorp, and didn’t even _apologize_ when he came crying for help.

That ghost was right, whoever he was – if you didn’t call _that_ weak, he didn’t know what was.

_Bravo, Bernard. Turns out your new approach works, after all._

-:-

To be continued…


	2. In Which the Story Officially Starts

Peter must have been blind.

Okay, that sounded cheesy and clichéd.

As Peter was convinced that he wouldn’t survive another blow from the Sandman, along came Harry. At that very moment, Peter was able to _see_ Harry for the first time.

Still cheesy. Ah well.

Anyway, when Harry closed his eyes to draw his last dying breath, Peter knew he couldn’t just let him die, not without a fight.

He immediately took Harry’s almost lifeless body to the nearest hospital while Mary Jane stayed to handle the police and the press. After his friend had been taken into the emergency room, Peter sat down on one of the chairs outside and waited.

He was praying Harry would be all right when a stocky middle-aged man in a suit showed up, peering at the operation inside and looking rather distressed.

Peter’d never seen him before, and he wondered if the guy was a family friend, someone who was friends with Norman Osborn. Or a co-worker from Oscorp?

“I think he’s going to live, Mr. Parker.”

Peter stopped his musing and realized the middle-aged man had shifted his attention away from the operation and was now regarding him mildly.

Peter was surprised the guy actually knew him. But then again, if he was from Oscorp, it probably wasn’t that much of a surprise. “Have we met?”

“Where are my manners?” the man extended a hand cheerfully, “I’m Mr. Osborn’s executive assistant, Joe Kramer.”

Harry’s co-worker. Bingo.

Peter shook the offered hand, “Peter Parker.”

“Ah yes,” Kramer nodded, “Mr. Osborn’s always talking about you.”

“He is?” Peter asked hopefully. Maybe it wasn’t impossible to repair their friendship?

“All the time.”

Then Peter remembered Harry hated his guts before coming to his rescue. Feeling crushed, he sighed. “What did he say about me?” Probably about how big of a jerk he was.

Kramer eyed him briefly, seemingly gauging his response. “He said thank god for you.”

Great. The bullshit answer. Wasn’t that just peachy?

“Thanks, Mr. Kramer,” said Peter politely, knowing he could only find out the real answer from Harry himself. “How did you know Harry’s here?”

“I’ve got the _connections_ ,” said Kramer with self-satisfaction.

Huh. Peter wondered if all business people got pleased with themselves so easily. Then again, they were _business people_ , so he shouldn’t be surprised.

“By the way, John Morgan’s on his way, too.”

Peter blinked. “John Morgan?”

“The chairman.”

He had a bad feeling about this.

-:-

John Morgan’s demeanor was so frosty that the air seemed to have frozen when he arrived. Sufficiently tall to make Peter feel intimidated, Morgan paid him no mind and observed the operation.

Peter didn’t like the look on his face. It was cautious and calculating, unlike Kramer’s genuine worry and concern.

Despite Kramer’s optimism, Harry’s condition looked grim. A nurse shouted something about Harry’s heart failing, and doctors and nurses moved around in restrained panic. At least it wasn’t full-blown panic. It was amazing how medical people were trained in the profound art of Don’t Panic During Crises. Perhaps he should go to a medical school, too? He could certainly use some panic management himself. Because, you know, he was _definitely panicking right now!_

_Please don’t let him die._ He prayed desperately as he watched the frantic but precise movements in the ER.

“Joe,” Morgan suddenly said.

As Peter had speculated, the chairman’s voice was frosty as well. Maybe it was actually ice water that coursed through his veins instead of blood.

Kramer approached the Iceman and stopped next to him.

Morgan remained cold and collected, “Have the enzyme ready.”

“But it hasn’t been tested on humans,” Kramer replied, startled.

Given the fact that the Iceman was the Iceman, Peter was impressed Kramer had openly challenged his employer at all. He supposed with familiarity did come courage after all.

Morgan was unfazed. “It’s the only way to keep Harry alive at the moment. If the enzyme did fail and kill him,” he paused, unperturbed, “he’d die without it, anyway. He has nothing to lose.”

To Peter’s horror, Kramer actually bought this load of _bullshit_ and nodded and left.

Well, _Peter_ wasn’t going to just sit there and watch.

“Mr. Morgan,” he stood up and walked up to the heartless chairman firmly. John Morgan didn’t really care about Harry, no; he wanted Harry to live so he could avoid the inconvenience of losing a CEO. He did it out of necessity rather than actual concern. And Peter wasn’t about to let him inject Harry with some untested drug simply because _he had nothing to lose_.

Morgan turned and regarded him steadily, and Peter knew his sharp tone probably implied he wanted to challenge the Iceman’s authority. And he was going to do exactly that. “What is that enzyme you were talking about?”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed marginally as he seemed to speculate who Peter was now that he actually looked at him.

“It’s one of our latest achievements,” the chairman replied levelly, “Kardiase. An enzyme that acts as a strong cardiac stimulant, think of it as an internal AED.”

Peter didn’t want to put an AED in Harry. It didn’t sound healthy, and the possible side effects might render him a deformed and insane monster who’d lost all traces of humanity.

“Sir, I can’t let you guys – **NO!** ”

Peter didn’t notice the enzyme’s arrival until it was too late. One of the doctors was already injecting some transparent liquid into Harry while the nurse next to him was holding a small glass bottle labeled “KARDIASE”.

Peter impulsively considered barging into the ER, but kardiase was already injected and there was nothing he could do about it. It was probably for the best that he didn’t disrupt the medical staff’s frantic pace and delicate focus. He heaved a sigh of defeat and could only hope that the enzyme worked without any creepy side effects. How did Kramer get back with the enzyme so soon, anyway? And to think the guy was supposed to be the one person in Oscorp who actually cared about Harry.

Peter felt anger rising in him as Kramer made his way back to where he and Morgan were standing. The rumors were true: corporate people weren’t human.

Kramer received Peter’s rather unfriendly death glare.

He _shrugged_. “Rational thinking, Mr. Parker, is vital in business.”

Peter wanted to punch him. And Morgan. This was not business; this was Harry’s _life_. Kramer thought putting an untested AED in their CEO was _rational_? Harry might have “nothing to lose” if kardiase killed him, but would he rather live as a mutated monstrosity than die with dignity?

The emergency room doors opened and one of the doctors emerged. Fatigue was apparent on her face, but there was something else. Joy. Relief.

Peter found he could breathe again.

-:-

Harry had remained stubbornly unconscious for two days, but Peter kept his vigil at his friend’s bedside.

Morgan and Kramer left once the doctors announced that Harry would live. M.J. and Aunt May had stopped by, checking up on both him and Harry. Bernard unsurprisingly came here every five hours, and he always brought a weird-looking, incomplete robot with him.

Bernard said the robot’s name was actually Crossbow-1, but they called it Charlie. Not that Peter would ever understand how _that_ worked. (And did Crossbow-1’s ‘voice’ actually sound like that droid from _Star Wars_? If the robot was made by Harry, the answer would be “yes”. His friend was, and always would be, a Star Wars geek.)

Why did it – sorry, _he_ (jeez, Bernard, this wasn’t _Bicentennial Man_ ) – scan Peter with a blue ray the moment it – he met him? Peter swore the bolt on the robot’s crossbow even _twitched_ after the scanning was done.

He could only wish Crossbow-1 wasn’t built by his unconscious friend, whose creepy adaptations of Norman Osborn’s Goblin technology weren’t exactly Peter-friendly. Especially those…razor bat plus homing ability plus pumpkin bomb things. What were they called, anyway? Batty pumpkin razor bombs?

…No. Harry would probably just call them Advanced Pumpkin Bombs or Razor Bats 2.0 or, better yet, Semi-Sentient Explosive Flying Sharp Objects. They were boring, but unfortunately those were exactly the kind of stuff Harry would use to name his gadgets.

Peter sighed and looked at his injured friend. Harry would’ve argued that he preferred “practical” (read: creativity-lacking) names to fancy ones if he were unhurt and awake.

“You know, buddy,” he said to his unconscious friend, “I know you’re probably still mad at me, but I really didn’t kill your father. And,” he sighed again, “Semi-Sentient Explosive Flying Sharp Object really is an awful name. It’s not even practical. It’s pointlessly exhaustive. Remember that one time in first grade we saw a printer and you called it a Buzzing Machine That Eats Paper And Poops Out Paper? That…just gave me a disturbing mental image.”

Peter took a moment to dispel the unwanted mental image of a Hewlett-Packard printer shitting out inked paper, but he only ended up having the HP printer replaced with a Canon one.

Harry was still sleeping.

Peter sagged as he reminded himself that the doctors said Harry was going to be okay. Still, he was worried his unconscious friend would remain unconscious forever due to permanent brain damage or something equally terrible.

Peter exhaled in anxiety and looked at his friend. “Uh, would you mind waking up so I could know for sure you’re all right?”

Nothing.

“Would it work if I said ‘please’?”

Nothing.

“I’ve missed two days of class and Dr. Connors probably wants to strangle me.”

Nothing.

“And Mr. Jameson wants to strangle me, too.”

Still nothing.

“By the way, a Bob Schneider called and _he_ wants to strangle _you_.”

Harry’s eyelids twitched.

Had he just imagined that? Peter held his breath.

Slowly, Harry’s eyelids moved again, and then he actually cracked his eyes open and squinted at Peter. He then said with sleep-addled mouth, “Then we’ll be a pair of strangulation victims.”

“Harry!” cried Peter, glad and relieved.

Harry smiled, “Hey, buddy.”

“How long have you been awake?”

“I was in this mysterious land called Not Completely Awake, and I heard ‘Schneider’ and ‘strangle’. And I knew I had to wake up to run for my life.”

-:-

Peter had been wearing a stupid grin since he left the hospital. Harry was alive! He saved him! Or Oscorp saved him. Or he saved him 50% and Oscorp saved him 50%. Or he saved him 60…no, 72% and Oscorp saved him – never mind. He was just happy that Harry was fine.

A young couple walked past him. They suddenly turned around and stared at him, as if in recognition.

“It’s that guy that danced on the street!” the young man exclaimed.

“Nice moves, jackass.” his girlfriend said to Peter sarcastically.

Peter sincerely hoped they weren’t talking about his time in the black suit; that particular period was something he preferred _not_ to think about.

People on the street heard the couple and turned their heads to see what the fuss was about. Recognizing him, they laughed.

Peter couldn’t rush back to his apartment any faster. Once safely inside, he promised himself he wouldn’t go out again unless absolutely necessary.

-:-

“Parker, you’re FIRED!” Jameson yelled as he slammed his hand on the desk loudly.

“But, Mr. Jameson –”

“Sorry, too little, too late. You should’ve seen this coming when you acted like you _owned_ this place.”

“Mr. Jameson, I can explain –”

“And there’s also that small matter of missing the _fight of the century_. Two on two, Parker. TWO ON TWO!”

Peter couldn’t help but flinch. Okay, Betty wasn’t kidding when she said their boss was very scary when enraged. Not knowing what to do, Peter looked at Robbie for help.

Robbie just sighed, “Where _were_ you, Peter?”

At that moment, Peter knew he was doomed.

-:-

After he was laughed at some more on the street, Peter entered his apartment miserably. He got fired again. Given his general inability to hold onto a job for long, he really shouldn’t be too surprised.

He closed the door in dejection and sat down on the bed, shoulders slumped. People always obsessed over the past too much. Why couldn’t they just _let it go_? Was that asking too much?

_Well, **you** hunted down Uncle Ben’s killer like crazy._

_I know. Shut up, Mind._

Peter sighed. He was unemployed and the laughing stock of pedestrians. Could life just get any worse?

-:-

“I’m sorry, Peter, but there’s someone else.”

Okay, obviously it could.

Mary Jane looked apologetic but not regretful. Peter’d never seen her so happy and radiant before; she _glowed._ She’d really found her one true love this time.

Peter actually wanted to congratulate her and _not_ drop to his knees and weep like a heartbroken girl. Why would he want to cry, anyway? M.J. was only his soulmate, the girl of his dream, the love of his life, the one that completed his soul… All right, fine, he wanted to drop to his knees and weep like a heartbroken girl.

But he did want to congratulate her. The thing was, he’d seen M.J. change boyfriends so many times that he felt a weird sense of relief for her when she finally found who she was meant to be with. Even though that person wasn’t _him_ , he was still happy that she was happy.

Wow, he sounded like the tragic hero of an old Oscar movie. Or a trashy romance novel.

Before Mary Jane left for her romantic dinner with her new boyfriend, she’d hugged Peter cheerfully and wished he would find his own true love.

Peter knew he wouldn’t because _she_ was his true love and she’d just dumped him.

Given the luck he’d been having lately, he couldn’t say he was surprised.

-:-

He was even less surprised when his landlord Mr. Ditkovich said he was finally fed up with all his rudeness and ungratefulness, and Peter was now officially kicked out of his apartment. Even Ursula looked utterly disappointed in him.

While packing his belongings, Mr. Ditkovich’s last words to him were still repeating in his ears: “You really think you can just be a jerk with no consequences?”

Yes, actually. He’d hoped not much would change in his life even after he went around being a jerk to everybody.

Peter sighed as he stuffed his clothes into a cardboard box. It wasn’t like he did those things on _purpose_.

Anyway, where should he go? Aunt May was now in California for some Christian retreat and everyone else he knew thought he was an egoistic jackass. Except Mary Jane, but of course he couldn’t turn to her for help after she’d just dumped him; that’d be just awkward. He needed someone who knew about the black suit, someone who understood he didn’t mean to be an ass.

Someone like Harry.

With tremendous guilt, Peter realized he’d forgotten about his best friend. Again. As he stuffed more clothes into the box, he wondered how his friend was doing.

-:-

Harry turned off the television in the family room with a weary sigh. He wouldn’t complain even if the Board marched into his home and executed him with a firing squad.

To make himself feel at least a little bit better, he turned to watch Charlie trying out his new limbs.

After Harry was released from the hospital, the Board told him to remain home and rest so he could recover as fast as possible. _Then_ they would deal with this crisis. Since he was, ironically enough, under house arrest in the Osborn Mansion again, he’d decided to upgrade Charlie.

Harry finally made the little guy proper metal plates to cover all his chipsets and wires and six retractable limbs to make his life easier. The metal plates were green because he was thinking of spider-eating praying mantises when he made them, which was also why he’d added _six_ limbs. To make sure Charlie _was_ a mantis, he gave him antennas and replaced his un-matching eyes with big identical ones. He even went so far as to make the two legs on the front into scythes.

Oh, he’d enjoy watching the little guy _eat spiders for breakfast_.

Although Charlie had four legs to walk on, Harry knew he would still roll around on his old wheels. Because that was what Artoo did and Charlie was _hardcore_.

Charlie was done playing with his new limbs, so he folded them neatly back against his shiny green torso and rolled towards Harry. He bumped his maker’s knees jovially as a “thank you” and rolled away to find Bernard, beeping and whistling in excitement.

_Definitely_ hardcore. George Lucas would probably cry if he ever saw Charlie.

The doorbell chimed.

“I’ll get it,” said Harry to Bernard, who’d reflexively hurried out of the dining room.

-:-

Harry’s eyes widened when he saw the huge cardboard boxes behind Peter.

“Hey, buddy,” Peter greeted with a sheepish grin. He knew he should’ve called before showing up with a bunch of stuff at his friend’s door.

Harry didn’t say anything. He simply stared at the boxes as if he was doing a mental count.

The silent staring was getting on Peter’s nerves.

“Harry,” Peter decided to break the uncomfortable silence, but he wasn’t man enough to look Harry in the eye, “I know this is sudden and weird, but,” he took a deep breath, “I got kicked out. And fired. And dumped. And people _ridicule_ me on the street. I haven’t thrown myself off the Brooklyn Bridge yet _only_ because people still love Spidey and I’m not thrown out by Columbia.”

Peter was quite pleased with his colorful recounting of his misfortune, so moving and expressive, and now he was ready to take it like a man and look Harry in the eye. He looked at his friend.

He found Harry looking at him with zero sympathy.

“I doubt you have it in you to take a plunge into the East River anyway,” said his heartless friend.

Oh great. He was still mad at him. “I know I’ve been a jerk and I probably deserve all this,” to his annoyance, Harry raised an annoying eyebrow at the word “probably”, “But that’s not the _point_.”

Harry just regarded him calmly, and Peter, in a rare moment of profound wisdom, figured out that Harry’d figured out what it all meant. And since his friend was obviously mad at him, he was not going to make it easy for Peter by saying his request _for_ him. Peter had to say it himself.

Peter took a moment to apologize to his pride and self-esteem, and he spoke: “Harry, I have nowhere to go.”

Harry only nodded slowly, deliberately, and then he motioned Peter to elaborate, as if he _hadn’t_ figured it all out already.

Peter’s pride and self-esteem started crying. He calmed them down and told them it was for the good of Peter. “Could I please, _please_ stay here, at least for a couple of days?”

Peter’s pride and self-esteem were now wailing that _they_ wanted to throw themselves off the Brooklyn Bridge. But what else could he have done? As embarrassing as it was, he was officially, though temporarily, homeless. He was a homeless person, a homeless person with tons of stuff.

Harry was probably satisfied with Peter’s humiliation, because now he looked at him with an unreadable expression that bordered on hostile.

Peter looked at his friend’s disfigured face. He knew his friend had every reason to hate him. Except the father-killing – he was only _one_ of the _many_ contributing factors to Norman Osborn’s death. But Harry had said he forgave him, and now he was acting like he didn’t. Maybe people were more forgiving when they thought they were going to die? And after they’d survived, their heads cleared and they realized they actually _didn’t_ feel like being forgiving.

After what felt like eternity, Harry finally let go of his hostility with a heavy sigh. “All right.”

Yes! Peter felt like he was on top of the world! Somewhere a symphonic orchestra of at least two hundred pieces started playing and angels were singing in chorus and joy for him! “Thank you, Harry!”

“Although,” Harry suddenly said, his gloomy voice a wet blanket on the merriment, and all the music and singing halted with a screech, “I am _very_ tempted to say no.”

“… _Why?_ ”

-:-

“ _Anxious shareholders demand explanations from Oscorp Industries’ CEO Harry Osborn regarding his suspicious current injuries._ ” the reporter said seriously in front of the New York Stock Exchange.

“ _That’s_ why.” Harry stood beside the television, looking at Peter with quite a lot of unfriendliness.

Peter swallowed as he watched the depressing report on Oscorp’s unhappy shareholders and plummeting stock price.

“ _I mean, I’ve never heard of CEOs having **that** many ‘accidents’ before – what kind of company is that?_ ” a middle-aged man remarked to the reporter.

“ _Maybe those so-called accidents are some kind of result of illegal transactions._ ” a businesswoman commented gravely, “ _Somebody obviously wants Harry Osborn to die._ ”

“ _So their CEO had two accidents in one week. What, they’re cursed or somethin’?_ ” a nasty-looking businessman said sarcastically, but clearly a little worried that Oscorp _was_ cursed.

“ _I just wanna know why the death rate of Oscorp execs is so high._ ” another businessman said, “ _Remember the murders of Norman Osborn and his Board? Now, maybe it was insistent murder attempts, maybe it was just bad luck, but Harry, Norman’s son, seems to have gotten the Oscorp Curse, too._ ”

Harry turned off the television with the remote control and regarded Peter resentfully, “As you can see, my ‘accidents’ have crashed Oscorp’s stock price.”

Peter swallowed again. He didn’t have a clue about the stock market, but a _crash_ sounded pretty serious.

“You see, my sudden facial disfiguration and the two holes on my chest make the Shareholders _uneasy_.”

“Because they feel sorry for you?”

Harry sighed in a thoroughly obnoxious way. “ _No_. You watched the news. They think it’s us doing shady experiments or bad omen or failed murder attempts resulted from our ‘illegal transactions’. And my favorite: the Oscorp Curse.”

Those were actually legitimate concerns, and they made sense.

“Now you see why people are dying to get rid of their Oscorp shares.”

Was his thought process that obvious? He hoped the Goblin serum hadn’t accidentally given Harry the ability of mind-reading, because that would be just –

“Peter. Focus.”

Good idea. Except Harry was giving off the very unpleasant vibes of _I’m gonna tell you just how you’ve ruined my life, asshole_.

Harry made sure he got Peter’s full attention before he continued, still resentful. “ _Obviously_ I can’t tell the Shareholders or the Board where I really got the injuries _from_ ,”

Peter saw where this was going. So Harry hated him for causing those injuries and subsequently crashing Oscorp’s stock. He felt properly guilty, so he took the cue bravely like the superhero he was, “I agree completely! I’m really sorry about everything!”

Was that too eager? Harry didn’t look convinced.

“Do you have any _idea_ how low Oscorp’s stock price has sunk to because of _you_?”

Frankly, Harry was asking the wrong guy. Peter had absolutely no idea when to call a stock _good_ , so of course he didn’t know when to call it _bad_.

“…No?”

Harry didn’t seem surprised. “$5.30.”

Peter wondered if that was supposed to be low or _low_ low.

“We’re almost as low as Citi. _Citi._ ”

_Low_ low, then.

Peter didn’t know Citibank’s stock price had got so low that people saw it as the benchmark of Bad.

Wait a minute.

“Your stock price was how much before?” Because the difference between the maximum value and minimum value was sometimes more significant than the minimum value itself. Oh yeah, he was a scientist through and through.

Harry narrowed his eyes, “$41.80.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

Peter didn’t know what to say to that. He asked apologetically, “So what are you going to do?”

“We’re making a public announcement on Monday, and I’m going with the car accident excuse I gave the Board.”

Peter widened his eyes, “They actually believe that?”

“They don’t, but they also know I’ll never tell them the truth.”

“That’s lenient of them,”

“I suppose they know the truth is something they don’t want to know. Too bad the Shareholders aren’t gonna be so tolerant.” Harry then added as an afterthought, “Not that I blame them.”

“But you’re using that excuse anyway.”

“Yes.”

How depressing. If stocks were like that most of the time, no wonder the Great Depression was called the Great Depression.

Peter lived by the motto When in Doubt, Change the Subject, and he was feeling a lot of doubt right now. “Not that I want to change the subject or anything, but I’m kind of wondering if I could –”

“Change the subject?” Harry supplied as he raised an unfriendly eyebrow.

Before Peter could answer, his friend cut him off again.

“Here’s one topic I just _love_ talking about: how Oscorp got to where it is today.”

Oh _no_.

“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful company called Oscorp. She was the technology giant, the leader of energy innovation, the _king_ of weapon industry.”

The king of weapon industry? Please.

“But then she was stricken by unforeseen events and her splendor was no more. Before she could regain her former glory, however, there was a catastrophe called the Octavius Incident, because of which Oscorp suffered great financial loss. Oscorp, her reputation tarnished and earnings negative, struggled to stand up from where she fell. It was not easy, but Oscorp managed to stay on the path of slow recovery.”

Okay, there was something creepy about putting Oscorp in a fairytale and addressing it as “her”, like it was a princess or something.

“Then a giant Spider came along and _crushed_ Oscorp’s efforts into dusts.”

Peter almost jumped at _crushed_. Harry sounded like he wanted to “crush” Peter.

“Her stock price crashed and her public image was once again ruined. Creditors got edgy, banks hesitated to loan, sales and profits dwindled – what little progress she made after the Octavius Incident was slashed in half. She’d planned to be back on track before the Shareholder Meeting in December, but now, thanks to the giant Spider, that probably wouldn’t happen because it was already _November_.”

“Harry,” Peter interrupted the weird (and kind of boring) business fairytale, “don’t you believe in Christmas miracles?”

“Given the luck I’ve been having these years? No, not at all.”

Harry Osborn, Peter decided, had just given “holiday blasphemy” a new meaning.

“As I was saying,” Harry resumed his storytelling, though he seemed to have lost his fairytale mood. “The giant Spider was an asshole and ruined Oscorp’s one chance at redemption before the Shareholder Meeting. The Shareholders will be pissed, and the meeting will be a riot, and Oscorp will be stoned to death by the angry mob. And when _that_ happens, my ghost will haunt your ass to the end of the world.”

“Uh, Harry, that’s not a fairytale anymore.”

Harry didn’t appreciate his friendly reminder. Oh well, there was just no pleasing some people.

Then Peter remembered he was supposed to be _changing the subject_.

“Hey, buddy, what have you been up to?”

Thankfully, Harry didn’t reject his subject-changing attempt with another of his disturbing fairytales.

“I’ve been under house arrest.”

Now that sounded not Oscorp-related and perfectly normal.

Wait.

“You’ve been _what_?! Jesus, what did you _DO_?!” Harry might be short-tempered and homicidal and hard to please at times, but he wasn’t a criminal!

Harry sighed impatiently upon seeing his shocked and panicked look, “Not ordered by the court, _genius_ , by the Board.”

Oh. It was just a melodramatic figure of speech. Which was decidedly still Oscorp-related. Figures.

“Why did they ground you?”

“To make sure I stay home and get a fast recovery before we start saving Oscorp from the _hell_ you put her in.”

Again with the female pronoun. Jeez.

“Uh, well, when will you be, you know, released from your Board-ordered house arrest?”

Harry finally looked not-pissed for the first time this evening. “Tomorrow,” he said, visibly relieved. Peter supposed it did get frustrating when you were told to just stay home and rest even though you already felt healthy enough to work.

Harry didn’t say anything after that, as if he was distracted by the thought of finally going back to work tomorrow. He sat down on the couch absentmindedly and rested his elbows on his thighs, and then he just stared at the carpet. And stared. And stared.

Well, this was awkward. Peter just stood there while his carpet-staring friend just sat there.

Then he decided it was an appropriate time to study Harry’s face since the face’s owner was too preoccupied for the moment to snarl or do something equally rude, so Peter covertly peered at his friend. Harry looked tired and stressed, and his remaining eye was bloodshot. There seemed to be a constant frown on his face; not really visible, but there all the same.

Peter’s study was cut short when Harry abruptly stopped his carpet-staring and straightened up. Peter quickly averted his gaze and pretended he’d been looking at a creepy statue in the corner.

“Anyway,” Harry pushed himself off the couch, “let’s find you a room so you can get settled.”

Thanking every deity he knew that Harry had finally let him off the hook (at least for the time being) for supposedly ruining his life, Peter nodded gratefully, “Thanks, buddy.”

He froze when he looked down and a robot mantis showed up out of nowhere. Of course, seeing a robot wouldn’t make him freeze, but a robot aiming its crossbow bolt right between his eyes would.

The robot was silent and just observed him, its crossbow ready to fire at any moment. Shocked, Peter looked at Harry for help, but his friend simply looked amused and…smug?

“You built it, didn’t you?” Peter asked uneasily.

“ _Him_.” Harry folded his arms over his chest and smiled, obviously enjoying the whole thing. Sick bastard.

“Him? Is that _Charlie_?”

“Yep,” Harry remained smug and amused, “I just gave him an upgrade.”

So Charlie was now a mantis. A carnivorous insect. A spider-eating bug. Well, Peter definitely didn’t want to know what _that_ meant.

“Harry, buddy, I admire your creativity and mechanical skills, not to mention your awe-inspiring talent in programming,” Peter hoped he sounded sincere, “But would you mind asking Charlie to point that thing somewhere _not_ me?”

“You see, that’s the problem.” Harry smiled maliciously, “Charlie is a spider-hunter, and he’s detected spider genes in you.”

“Well. That certainly explains his freaky behaviors in the hospital.” Peter told himself to not panicsince there was NO way Charlie would shoot him.

No, really, Charlie wouldn’t. He had no reason to, right…?

“So it does,” said Harry, “Charlie activates his Spider-Scanner after his Spider-Detector detects spider genes in the surroundings.” That was a lot of “spider”s for one single sentence.

“So that creepy blue ray was actually the Spider-Scanner?” Peter hoped keeping the conversation going would give the robot enough time to come to his senses and _leave_.

“It gives him the exact coordinates of the spider.”

Peter was sweating like a sinner in church. “But he just showed up and aimed his crossbow at me without scanning this time. Don’t you think he might be making a mis-mistake?”

“He did scan you, in the hospital,” there was that malicious smile again. “And he _remembers_.”

The word ‘remember’ had never sounded so ominous since _Elephants Can Remember_. “W-well, I didn’t know your robot-building skill was so advanced!” Peter meant that as an ass-kissing compliment, but it came out more like an anxious complaint, “Can you tell him to go away?”

“Sorry, Pete,” Harry smiled his Jack Nicholson-Joker smile, “Too late.”

The sound of the crossbow firing pierced through the silence of night.

Peter was clinging on the ceiling upside-down, unharmed but traumatized for life. He could hear his heart pounding. He couldn’t believe Harry was actually trying to murder him! _Him_! Harry’s BEST FRIEND in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD! And Harry didn’t even have the decency to kill him himself! Instead, he sent his bloodthirsty ROBOT!

Laughter burst out below him. Peter looked down and realized that the bolt was never fired.

“You should’ve seen your face!” his heartless, evil “friend” was laughing so hard that he clutched his stomach while his sick robot sidekick was shaking with robot giggles that resembled obnoxious electronic hums.

Peter rolled his eyes and jumped back to the floor unhappily.

Despite being made the butt of the joke, he found that the tension between him and Harry was considerably lessened. Ha, he knew Harry always let things go after venting his anger through petty acts of revenge.

Harry and Bernard helped Peter move all his stuff into a guest room. The guest room was _huge_ , way too big for just one person to stay in. But then again, the whole Osborn Mansion was oversized. Charlie obviously liked the bed as he jumped onto it and began bouncing and giggling while Bernard and Harry helped Peter settle into his temporary room.

The four of them bustled around, and Peter felt warm inside. Doing mundane stuff with family was something he hadn’t done for quite some time. Sure, they were technically Harry’s family, but he was never one to be picky. He’d been mostly living alone for two years, and no matter how often he, Aunt May and M.J. visited each other, at the end of the day he was still by himself in his apartment. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed living _with_ people. He was starting to like the idea of staying at the Osborn Mansion.

But that was all before bedtime.

After eleven o’clock, Bernard bade them good night and retired into his room with Charlie rolling after him.

Harry yawned and glanced at the clock on the wall, “I got a conference call in ten minutes. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jesus, they had conference calls in the middle of night? “Have fun.”

To his mild surprise, Harry didn’t snort or laugh off the comment like he usually would. Instead, he nodded grimly, “Good night, Pete.” And he left.

Left alone in his room, Peter dug out his pajamas and toothbrush from one of his boxes. After taking a shower – the water heater was glorious! – and changing into his pajamas, he got into bed and was ready to fall asleep.

…Huh, he couldn’t.

Staring at the ceiling, Peter had nothing to do but count sheep. As he reached 28682, he noticed the coldness of the guest room got more and more pronounced as each new sheep jumped over the fence. Not that the room was literally cold (they had brilliant air conditioning, no surprise there), but the fact that the room had been unoccupied for a long time did make Peter feel a little…ill at ease.

28683.

Of course he wasn’t scared or anything embarrassing like that.

28684.

He was a superhero, he feared nothing.

28685.

Sure, the place was _huge_ , and the last time somebody lived here was probably ten years ago.

28686.

Norman Osborn used to live in _and_ own the whole mansion, now that he thought about it.

28687.

He really hoped the Green Goblin wouldn’t return as a ghost and seek revenge.

28688.

He _was_ alone in a dark, spooky, possibly haunted room previously owned by his dead nemesis.

Okay. Fine. He was scared.

Peter decisively sat up and got off the bed.

He regretted it the moment he left his warm nest of blankets and comforters. But the threat of being murdered by a vengeful ghost still loomed over him, so he put on his sweater and opened the door.

The hallway was empty and dimly lit, Norman Osborn’s spooky decorations and statues casting ominous shadows on the wall. The hallway was almost as bad as the guest room, and the sound of late November winds howling and wailing outside wasn’t helping.

Peter sighed in despair. There was no way he would go out into _that_ hallway and look for Harry.

“Come on, Parker, you’re Spider-Man!” he encouraged himself, “Harry’s lived here all his life and you don’t see _him_ trembling in fear, do you?”

“ _Well_ , maybe that’s because he’s never been involved in someone’s _death_ and now lives under that same dead person’s roof. Though he _is_ living under that dead person’s roof.”

“Great,” Peter huffed, “now I’m talking to myself.”

His ears picked up on the faint sound of someone talking downstairs, and he looked towards the end of the hallway in alarm. It was past midnight, surely everyone was asleep by now? Maybe it was a burglar. How he wished it was a burglar. Because if it wasn’t a burglar, then it could only be _Norman Osborn’s ghost!_

_Parker, be rational. Ghosts don’t exist. Ghosts don’t exist. Deep breath. Deep breath._

After several ineffective deep breaths, Peter steeled himself and decided to investigate. It might be Norman Osborn’s ghost, but it could still be a burglar, and it was his duty to protect innocent civilians from burglars.

Harry, innocent civilian? Nah. He meant Bernard and Charlie. …Actually, just Bernard.

Peter boldly left his scary guest room and ventured into the just as scary hallway. He went down the shadowy hallway carefully, and as he reached the stairs, he stopped and listened. He was almost sure it was _not_ a burglar. No professional burglar would talk so much when he was burgling in the middle of night. Not to mention this guy wasn’t whispering, he was flat-out _talking_.

Maybe it was an amateur burglar. Or _Norman Osborn’s ghost!_

Deep breaths were still useless. Of course Norman Osborn’s ghost would feel right at home and talk as much as he liked, as loud as he liked – he was _Norman Osborn’s ghost!_

Maybe he should wake Harry. But Harry loved his dad, and who knew what he might do if Norman Osborn’s ghost told him to avenge him?

Peter walked down the stairs step by step, as carefully and quietly as possible. He was really thankful the stairs here didn’t creak. When he finally reached the bottom, the voice was loud enough for him to recognize as…

Harry. What the hell.

So this whole horror movie stuff was just Harry still on the phone.

Peter was both relieved and annoyed. Talk about scared by your own imagination.

Then a miracle happened: Peter wasn’t _that_ scared anymore. The mansion was still spooky, but its spook-o-meter had just dropped from 100 to 39. He supposed there was something to be said for the sound knowledge that you weren’t the only one awake. He’d better find Harry before he went to bed, too.

Peter followed Harry’s voice to the study, where he saw light pouring out from the half-closed door. Silently cheering, Peter tentatively knocked on the door before pushing it open.

Harry was sitting in front of his large desk, listening to the receiver in his hand. He’d looked up when Peter knocked and now he stared at Peter in mild surprise.

Peter mouthed _May I come in?_ awkwardly, and Harry narrowed his eyes in irritation and mouthed back an unfriendly _What do you want?_

Peter mouthed _It’s complicated._ But it was apparently too complicated for Harry to understand since he mouthed back an even more unfriendly _What?!_

Peter tried to mouth _It’s complicated._ again, but Harry, short-tempered bastard that he was, cruelly dismissed his second try and condescendingly (and grumpily) gestured at one of the armchairs nearby. Peter briefly considered not sitting down on that armchair just to spite him, but then he reminded himself how tired he already was and he knew he’d look childish, not to mention the armchair looked real comfy…

Peter gave into temptation and sat down. Turned out the armchair wasn’t as comfortable as it looked. Ah well.

“And what do you think?”

Peter almost jumped. “I think the chair’s too hard.” he answered honestly.

But Harry just gave him an unimpressed look. What, he _asked_.

“Agreed. Tell Whitman we’ll _think_ about it.” Harry said to the receiver.

Oh. Harry wasn’t talking to him.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Peter rolled his eyes right back. _Well, smartass, how was **I** supposed to know you weren’t asking about the chair? …Though I suppose you **do** have a phone in your hand. Yeah. _

Harry started looking through a pile of documents, and Peter looked at Harry. He had to admit, looking at Harry was kind of uneventful. His friend just listened and talked and listened and talked and listened some more.

“Good thinking, Phil. But I have a suggestion.”

Peter yawned and looked at the huge clock on the wall: 1:28.

“Tell Eric: improve sales or pack your office.”

God, this was boring.

“That offer is final.”

Peter dozed off and nearly fell off the chair.

“Bob, we don’t want SEC barging in here.”

Why did they have to do this in the middle of night again?

“We’ll talk again tomorrow. Good night, Phil. And good day, Bob.”

Tomorrow? They were doing this _again_? Don’t they ever get sick of –

“So, Pete,”

Peter almost jumped again. But this time, before he actually responded, he checked to make sure Harry was indeed talking to him.

Harry had hung up the phone and was looking at him impatiently. Good.

“You’re done?”

“Obviously,” said Harry passively.

Peter stood up from the uncomfortable armchair and yawned, “Why can’t you guys have conference calls in the morning or something?”

“ _Because_ , my arachnid friend,” Harry said slowly, as if he was explaining something painfully obvious, and he even managed to make “arachnid” sound like an insult, “One of them is in California, the other is in Shanghai.”

“You mean the Shanghai in China?”

“Is there another Shanghai around here?”

Peter was tempted to joke that perhaps there was a Shanghai in Vietnam, but didn’t when the hostility in Harry’s voice was so plain.

“Why aren’t you in bed, anyway?” Harry asked out of the blue as he put his documents away.

“Uh…” Peter would die first before admitting he was afraid of –

“You’re not afraid of the guest room, are you?”

Never mind.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Harry said as he began turning off the lights in his study, “Even the Pope slept in there once.”

Peter’s jaw dropped, “Really?!”

“No.”

“Very funny,”

“I do regard myself as quite the comedian.”

Peter groaned and decided to change the subject.

“Do you still think I killed your father?”

Crap. Talk about Freudian slip.

Harry’s hand stopped in midair before he could touch the switch of the last light. He lowered his hand and turned around to stare at Peter in disbelief. Peter wanted to strangle himself. It was a question he’d been wanting to ask ever since Harry was released from the hospital; while he did plan to ask Harry, he was going to do it when it was morning and bright and Bernard would be there to save him from murder, _not_ when it was past midnight and he and Harry were the only ones awake.

Harry regarded him and narrowed his eyes fiercely, “What do you _think_?”

Peter flinched, “So…you still want revenge?” _Please say no, please say no, please say no!_

“Well, after I almost died _twice_ ,” Harry replied coldly, “I’ve come to the conclusion that life is too short to be wasted on people like you.”

“Oh.” It was a lame response, and Peter knew he could do better than that.

“So you don’t hate me?” Okay, he couldn’t do better than that.

“Despite the fact that you killed my father and ruined my life and Oscorp? _No_ , of _course_ not.”

_Figures._

“Right, stupid question. But just for the record, I didn’t kill your father!”

Harry exhaled through his nose with his eyes narrowed, something he usually did when he was supremely annoyed, “What makes you think I’d believe _you_?”

“…Because I really didn’t kill your father?”

“Got anything more solid than that?”

“ _Well,_ if you look closely, you’ll notice the blade that pierced his body came from his Gli –”

“Congratulations, that’s exactly what Bernard said. And as I told him, _you_ could’ve killed my father with that Glider.”

Bernard tried to defend him? He knew there was a reason he liked the old man so much. “But I didn’t!”

Harry ignored him, “Just like Brock almost killed me with _my_ Glider.”

Peter sighed. Harry would never believe him. Time to give up. He checked to make sure the door wasn’t closed. He’d just decided on an escape route when he noticed Harry didn’t look like he was about to attack.

Harry rolled his eyes obnoxiously, “I’m done with revenge, remember?”

How was Peter supposed to know he wouldn’t change his mind? Anyone would agree Harry looked quite murderous at the moment.

“…Okay, just so we’re clear,” Peter made sure the escape route was still valid, “you still hate me and you still think I killed your father, _but_ you don’t want to kill me.”

Harry sighed impatiently, “ _Yes_ ,”

That didn’t really make sense, but Peter wasn’t going to complain.

“Thanks,” he said sincerely, “for, er, not wanting to kill me and letting me stay here.” Aunt May always said showing your appreciation was the first step of repairing friendship.

Aunt May was wrong! Harry didn’t appreciate his appreciation. He didn’t say “you’re welcome” or soften his general unfriendliness. He just looked at Peter with his already narrowed eyes.

“Since we’re being so honest tonight, don’t you want to know why I hate you so much?”

Peter’s automatic response was _No!_ , but then he thought about it and realized two things: 1. Harry would tell him whether he liked it or not, so an unmanly _No!_ would only embarrass himself; 2. he _did_ want to know.

Peter checked his escape route again just in case. “Uh…why _do_ you hate me so much?”

Harry leaned back against his desk and crossed his arms ominously, “Two reasons.”

This was bad.

“After our _elaborate_ discussion earlier, you already know the first one: you harmed Oscorp.”

Peter nodded and checked his escape route again.

“The other one is –”

“I didn’t kill your father!” Damn. Classical conditioning. “I meant you hate me because you think I killed your father. Which I didn’t.”

“No, genius.”

“Oh.” Escape route: safe. “…Why not?”

“Because it _is_ possible you didn’t actually kill him.”

Peter felt like he was dreaming. “Exactly!”

“But you have something _to do_ with his death for _sure_.”

That was…a way to put it.

“ _If_ you’re only part of the reason he’s gone, then you’re not _completely_ guilty.”

“So you don’t hate me for your father’s death because I _might_ be not _completely_ guilty?”

“Yes,”

“Even though you personally think I’m actually completely guilty?”

“Yes,”

That was surprisingly rational of him.

“But if that’s not the second reason,” escape route safe, “what is?”

“The second reason,” Harry gave a melodramatic pause, “you’re guilty of it as hell.”

Peter involuntarily flinched at the _I’ve been waiting for this for a **long** time, asshole_ look on Harry’s already homicidal face.

Peter searched his memory for what could have angered Harry so… But nope, beside his involvement in the senior Osborn’s death and the junior Osborn’s disfigurement and Oscorp’s stock crash, he’d just been a really nice guy doing really nice things for people.

Did he sound like the bane of the existence of everything Osborn?

…Yes, he did.

Escape route safe.

“Peter Parker,” said Harry, “our friendship is a joke.”

Huh?

“What are you talking ab –”

Harry ignored him and continued his resentful, bitter accusation, “You’ve never treated me right.”

Oh. Wow. This sounded like the climax of an old romance movie.

“Harry, buddy, calm down and take it eas –”

“You never treat me like a friend.” Harry still ignored him, “At the beginning, I was nothing to you but The Loser To Suffer Together With. After we got out of high school, O joy, I _evolved_ : I became The Rich Sucker To Keep Around For Convenience’s Sake. And you know what, those were actually the _good_ days.”

This was not the first time Peter thought Harry was too sensitive.

“Ever since we graduated from Columbia, I have been – with inconceivable honor, of course – The Insignificant Idiot That’s Never Worth Your Time.”

“That’s not true!” Peter didn’t mean to get defensive, but really, just five minutes ago he thought Harry was still his best friend, past conflicts notwithstanding, “I was busy and I…” And he what? Uh-oh.

“Forgot all about me,” Harry finished for him sarcastically, “but not busy enough to forget M.J., right?”

Peter hated it when Harry’s sarcastic remarks actually made sense. Not _right_ , but made sense.

“And you only remembered I exist when you had _nowhere to go_.”

Now _that_ was just an awful impression of Peter. He didn’t sound so pathetic!

“Look, Harry, why don’t you just take it easy? It’s not what you think!”

“Isn’t it?” Harry’s repressed anger and frustration was being released at a frightening rate, “Don’t you remember?”

To be honest, Peter never expected his friend to have so much suppressed fury and bitterness because of him.

Harry seemed to be in a cold rage, “Maybe this would refresh your memory,”

Oh no.

“You stole M.J. from me,”

_And here we go again…_

“You stole my father’s love when you knew, you _knew_ I wanted it more than anything.”

_Wait for it._

“And you killed him when he was going to make everything right!” Harry shouted the last part, and Peter winced.

Though that went against what Harry said earlier about not hating him and “not completely guilty”, Peter saw it coming. Harry’d always been overemotional and stubborn. “I didn’t kill your father!”

Harry suddenly calmed down, which was unexpected and outright weird, and then he regarded Peter with patronizing disdain, as if he’d got tired of hearing Peter’s exact same “I didn’t kill your father!” over and over again. He stared at Peter in the annoying _Can’t you do better than **that**?_ way he was so good at.

“Fine.” he said, still patronizing, “We’ll be objective here. You are the direct _or_ indirect cause of my father’s death considering all available data. How’s _that_?”

“That’s much better!” Peter exclaimed approvingly, and then immediately realized he’d overstepped the boundary as Harry narrowed his eyes again, “I mean,” Peter cleared his throat, “It’s very considerate of you. Thank you.”

Harry ignored him and once again didn’t appreciate his appreciation. Though Peter had to admit his friend had just lost most of his momentum for the sake of objectivity. Peter wasn’t sure if he should feel sorry for his potentially homicidal friend or relieved.

Harry continued his tirade, “The bottom line is, I meant it when I said after the fight with Brock that none of your recent crimes mattered. I forgave you for mocking my father’s memory, and I forgave you for disfiguring me, but I won’t forgive you for hurting Oscorp and treating me like _shit_ all these years. You’ve wronged me, your ‘best friend’, in every way imaginable, and you’re self-righteous enough to take away _everything_ I hold dear, even Oscorp. So what’s next? Bernard and Charlie?”

It was lengthy and self-contradictory and some parts didn’t even make sense, but Peter got the general idea. And his temper flared. Seriously, he might have been a shitty friend, but he wasn’t _that_ shitty. He’d sent Harry to the hospital _twice_ , even after he tried to murder him. To say his friend was overreacting was the Understatement of the Year. “Give me a break, Harry! Why would I take away Bernard and your stupid mantis? Besides, _Oscorp_? I didn’t take it from you, I just unintentionally doomed it to a bloody fate!”

So…yelling insensitive stuff at his already unstable friend probably wasn’t the best way to go. Escape route safe!

“That didn’t come out right!” Peter said hastily, “What I’m trying to say is, _objectively_ speaking –”

“Peter Parker _makes_ Harry Osborn _lose_ everything he holds dear?” Harry offered dryly. So he didn’t explode. Thank god.

“…Yeah?” _Quick, Parker, change subject!_ “Anybody ever told you that you have a born talent of making objective statements?”

_Oh my god. I…I suck._

Harry looked extremely unimpressed. He gazed at Peter tiredly for a while before heaving a resigned sigh. “Since I’ve made my point, I suppose I should go to bed now.”

Then he turned off the last light and left without another word, leaving Peter in the darkness.

Well, that didn’t go too well. Peter sighed and stepped out of the dark study, closing the door behind him. To be honest, he’d expected Harry to erupt like a volcano, not give up so quickly and _easily_ like he just did. The Harry he knew would never relent until he won the argument or one of them stomped off in exasperation. And this time he didn’t even slap Peter after recounting his past offenses.

Peter decided it was too early in the day to analyze Harry, so he made his way back to the guestroom, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to be freaked out by the general spookiness of the Osborn Mansion at night.

Or not.

After getting officially spooked by a statue in the hallway that he’d thought was _Norman Osborn’s ghost!_ , Peter changed his destination to Harry’s bedroom. Harry might hate him and would probably answer his ghost dad’s call for help when said ghost tried to murder him, but he still felt, irrationally, safer with Harry around.

-:-

To be continued…


	3. In Which Peter Gains Some Insight

It was a good thing Harry still slept in his old room even after he took over the mansion, or Peter would’ve had a hard (and spooky) time locating him. Upon reaching his friend’s room, Peter paused. Judging from the light and movements on the other side of the door, Harry was still awake. He thanked God for being such a good god and took a deep breath. He knocked on the door carefully, ready to swallow his pride and ask for the impossible.

Harry opened the door promptly like he already knew he was there and regarded him impatiently.

“ _Yes_?”

“I was just wondering…” Peter swallowed, “This is gonna sound weird, but…I…well…”

Realization emerged in Harry’s one remaining eye and his mouth curled into a cold smile. “Well, what do you know, Spider-Man’s still afraid of a _guestroom_.”

“Of course not! I just thought you might need a bodyguard.” That was just sad; Peter didn’t even believe it himself.

“Need a bodyguard?” Harry repeated with a mocking half-smile, “ _Me?_ He who almost killed _Spider-Man_?”

“But you _are_ the CEO of Os –”

“Yes, a dying company, all thanks to you.”

“Okay, so _maybe_ your rivals wouldn’t want to assassinate you, but what about the shareholders? They look pretty pissed to me.” Oh. Dear. God. Did he just _say_ that? It was even lamer than before.

“And my death would only hurt the stock price even more, which is something _anyone_ with common sense knows.”

Was it just him or did Harry just say he didn’t have common sense? What a douche.

“The shareholders might want you to die so they could have a new CEO!”

Harry sighed and almost rolled his eyes. “Peter, this is Wall Street we’re talking about. Things like that don’t happen here. They may want to get rid of me, but actually _assassinate_ me?” Harry smiled patronizingly, “ _Please._ ”

Peter wanted to remind him that exceptions do happen, so he opened his mouth –

“And I doubt any assassin would be able to leave this place alive should they _try_.”

Peter opened his mouth, wanting to say he shouldn’t kill people so casually –

“And I don’t care about your Life Is Sacred bullshit.”

How did he _do_ that?

“And for your information, I can seemingly read your mind because you are the single most predictable being I’ve ever –”

“ _Stop_ assuming what I’m going to say!” Peter shouted in frustration.

“Buddy, I don’t assume,” said Harry dryly, “I _know_.”

Peter wanted to tell him that his arrogance was appalling –

“Anyway, I don’t need a bodyguard. End of discussion. Good night.”

Peter knew the critical moment had come when Harry started closing the bedroom door. As he watched his entrance to a ghost-free night get narrower and narrower in slow-motion, he slammed a hand against the door just in time to keep it open, “Wait!”

Harry stopped his movement and looked at him, not surprised whatsoever. “What?”

Peter forced himself to swallow his pride like he originally planned, “You’re right. I’m scared. You win. Happy now?”

Harry just smiled as if this was all some sort of entertainment to him. “Scared? _No_ …you?”

“Yes!” Peter began losing his temper, “I just want to sleep on your floor, okay?!”

To his frustration, Harry chuckled.

“Spiders have no spine, do they?” his friend asked tauntingly.

It was Peter’s turn to narrow his eyes; he swore if Harry mocked him _one more time_ he would punch him so hard that his ancestors would –

“I suppose I could tolerate your existence on my floor for one night.”

What?

“But you just said –”

“Yeah, I mocked you. Got a problem with that?”

Peter opened his mouth, finally ready with a comeback –

“And no, I don’t care if my mocking makes you ungrateful, ’cause the satisfaction I get is priceless.”

Peter closed his mouth grudgingly. He wanted to say something, anything, to get back at Harry, but he eventually decided against it. He was too tired and he didn’t want to give Harry any incentive to kick him out after all the mocking he’d been through.

Miraculously, Harry didn’t make any more _charming_ comments. He just stepped back and let Peter enter his bedroom.

Harry’s room was just like any other room in the mansion: clean, spacious and totally unimaginative. Given Harry’s equally unimaginative naming system, Peter wasn’t really surprised. Come on, _Crossbow-1_? Seriously.

Peter often wondered if the Osborns bought the furniture all at once or Norman Osborn just had a thing for consistently spooky furniture.

“There’s a spare mattress in the closet,” said Harry noncommittally.

Peter felt a ray of sunshine in his otherwise dark, miserable life. It was comforting to know his friend still wanted him to be as comfortable as possible, which was a _very_ good sign for their hopefully repairable friendship.

He joked playfully, “So you _do_ care!”

“On second thought,”

Peter mentally bitch-slapped himself. _Parker, you IDIOT!_

He’d thought he was being funny, but apparently Harry begged to differ.

“Spiders like you only deserve the cold, hard floor, right?”

“Uh…”

“It’s settled, then.” Harry gave him the cold shoulders and got into bed, not sparing him a single glance.

Peter rolled his eyes when he saw Harry still kept the cold shoulders thing up even after lying down and getting comfortable. _That’s just plain chil –_

“It’s not childish – I simply prefer not to look at a filth pile when I try to get some sleep.”

 _Still sounds childish to me._ Peter snorted.

“Harry?”

“What?” Still the cold shoulders.

“Could I at least have a…pillow and blanket?”

“Closet.”

“Okay,” Peter opened the closet and that was when he saw it: the most glorious, comfortable-looking, _beautiful_ mattress he’d ever seen.

“Harry?”

“What?”

“You sure I can’t have the mattress?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“Oh. Okay…” Peter pulled out the huge pillow and blanket, and he brought them to the floor beside Harry’s bed.

As he lay down on the cold, hard floor, he had an idea.

“Harry?”

“WHAT?!”

“Do you have a sleeping bag that I can borrow?”

“That would defeat the purpose now, wouldn’t it?”

“Fine, fine. Way to go, Harry, have fun torturing your friendly neighborhood Peter Parker.”

“I will.”

Peter rolled his eyes and surrendered to his cold, hard fate. After all, sleeping safely on the cold, hard floor still beat sleeping in the comfortable bed of a haunted guestroom.

“Harry?”

Harry sat up all of a sudden and stared at him with one widened bloodshot eye that only belonged in a horror movie.

“WHAT DO YOU _HAVE_ AGAINST THE IDEA OF _SLEEPING_?!”

Peter gulped. Contrary to popular belief, Spider-Man wasn’t undaunted by horror movies. “I-I-I was just wondering if you want me to turn-turn-turn off the lights for you!”

Harry didn’t say anything. His bloodshot eye was still horror movie material, but it was somewhat softened. He just regarded Peter silently, his face unreadable.

After Peter was stared at for twenty-seven seconds – counted it – Harry’s face finally looked _kind of_ friendly.

“Thanks,”

Peter inwardly sighed in relief. If Manhattan’s CEOs were all unpredictable and _cranky_ like Harry, then it was a miracle Manhattan hadn’t blown itself up yet.

“No problem…” Peter stood up and switched off the lights.

Harry lay back down and closed his eyes again. Peter sat down on the cold, hard floor, painfully aware of just _how_ cold and hard the floor could be.

“Harry?”

Harry heaved a long sigh. “What?”

“Can I have your sleeping bag?”

There was silence for a short while, and then Harry sighed again and said tiredly: “Take the mattress.”

Peter couldn’t be more grateful to hear that.

-:-

The next morning Peter woke up rested and content. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept so well, all thanks to the one wonderful entity that occupied this residence – the Osborn Mansion Air Conditioning System.

Maybe he should call it OMACS. Or Omacs, just to make it more human. He sighed out of sheer appreciation.

Then Peter noticed he was alone. Harry’s bed was empty and somebody, presumably Harry himself, had already made the bed. He glanced at the clock and realized in horror that it was almost noon. But then he remembered it was Saturday and he had no classes to be late for.

Still, staying in bed until noon made Peter feel a little guilty. Maybe that had something to do with him not fulfilling his Spider-Man duty. Ah well, even superheroes needed to take a break every once in a while.

Peter got up and stretched his arms in the warm winter sun. It was nice waking up in a clean room, maybe he should try making his own (future) apartment less sloppy for a change.

Taking his time returning the pillow, blanket and mattress back to the closet, Peter absently wondered if Harry was having some mind-numbing meeting again. Glad that he was not Harry Osborn, he returned to the guestroom to change.

-:-

“Good morning, Mr. Parker.”

“Hi, Bernard!” Peter replied cheerfully as he was indeed in a cheerful mood.

The brunch was excellent and he absentmindedly considered if he should go on a patrol on this lazy Saturday afternoon. Then he noticed the living crossbow.

“Hi…. _Charlie_ …” He greeted cautiously. Charlie was staring at him in that creepy fashion again, as if he’d just found his lunch. Jesus, did his bolt just _twitch_?

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on in that mantis head of yours, but scaring me on a daily basis is not funny –”

The crossbow fired again.

And Peter was, unsurprisingly, on the ceiling again. To his annoyance, Charlie was _faking_ it again.

The robot giggled in that weird robot way, and Peter rolled his eyes and jumped down from the ceiling.

“Ha ha, very funny, Charlie, keep doing that and you just might win the Sickest Robot Sidekick Award.”

Charlie just kept on giggling and rolled away, all chipper and giggly.

Peter snorted, “Robots…”

“Mr. Parker,”

Peter turned around to face Bernard.

“Mr. Osborn asked me to give you this,” Bernard produced a folded piece of paper from his suit pocket and handed it to Peter politely.

Peter took it and thanked the old butler before unfolding it to read:

_Peter,_

_I’m having meetings all day, so DON’T call me unless the world is going to explode. On second thought, don’t call me EVEN IF the world is going to explode. And kindly don’t touch anything unless you ask Bernard first. _

_Harry_

“Well, isn’t _that_ a dandy way to greet someone on his Saturday,” Peter rolled his eyes and put the piece of paper into his pocket. “As if I’d break anything valuable –”

_Crash!_

He’d knocked over an expensive-looking vase. As the antique fell on the floor, it shattered into a million little pieces right in front of him.

“…Never mind.”

-:-

After Bernard had reassured him, repeatedly, that the Vase Incident was nothing to worry about (“And no, Mr. Osborn won’t kill you for that.”), Peter returned to the guestroom, trying to stay out of trouble.

Turning on his police radio, he dug out his textbooks and sat down on the bed. He tried to study.

 _Why is Harry so unfriendly again?_ He thought distractedly as he stared at a diagram, his brain not processing any information at all. _Oh, right, I supposedly killed his dad. Waaait a minute, he hates me because ‘you’ve never treated me right’._

Peter thought about this for a while and reached his conclusion.

_Nah, he’s just trying to make me feel bad._

_Even though he does have a point. Kind of. Not really. Or does he?_

_Nah._

Peter smiled in relief as he decided he was in fact the nicest guy on Earth, so there was no way he could have never treated Harry right.

Though he had to admit, Harry _had_ always been there for him, such as now, however unfriendly and nasty. Staring at the diagram some more, Peter eventually decided that Harry was actually the best friend anyone could ever hope for.

Bernard knocked on the opened door lightly and spoke, “Mr. Parker, Mr. Osborn has faxed you a message.”

Peter thought it must be a sign or something. He gladly accepted the piece of paper Bernard brought him, “Thanks, Bernard!”

The old butler smiled good-naturedly and left.

Peter looked down at the paper and read:

_Peter,_

_You’d better start looking for a new apartment since I won’t put up with a filth pile like you forever._

_Harry_

Peter rolled his eyes. _Scratch that. Harry Osborn is definitely NOT the best friend anyone could ever hope for._

-:-

Charlie, Peter noticed, seemed to be particularly attached to Bernard. Wherever Bernard went, Charlie went, too. He was like a shadow to the old butler. Peter had thought since Charlie was built by Harry, the robot would be more attached to his own maker. While Charlie did love Harry, it wasn’t like the way he loved Bernard. Harry must have something to do with it.

Charlie rolled into Peter’s room and Peter eyed him suspiciously. Charlie stopped in front of him and stared. And stared. And stared. And stared some more.

“Don’t even think about it,” Peter hissed threateningly.

Charlie just beeped chipperly and continued his staring.

Peter rolled his eyes. If that stupid mantis thought he could scare him using the same stupid trick three times –

The crossbow fired. Peter was on the ceiling. Charlie was giggling. And Peter just knew the bolt wasn’t shot this time, either.

Peter narrowed his eyes in annoyance as he jumped back down. “Oh, you miserable little –”

But Satan’s Robot already rolled away, still giggling like a girl.

Peter sighed. He bet Harry was behind all this.

The police radio informed that there was a bank robbery at Citibank and Peter, in reflex, quickly found his Spider-Man suit, donned it and leapt out of the windows.

-:-

The bank robber said he just needed the money to buy some Ford stock to make up for the loss he got from Lehman Brothers’ bankruptcy. Well, Peter didn’t know much about finance and economics, but robbing (crippled) banks like Citibank to buy more stocks sounded stupid and low. He should bury the money in his backyard or hide it in the mattress!

Peter sighed. Besides, _Ford_? Couldn’t that guy do better? Everybody knew Ford wasn’t doing well these days.

The recession seemed to be boosting the crime rate. Peter mused as he handed the disgruntled criminal to the police and swung away.

As he patrolled absentmindedly, he found that the Oscorp Building was just nearby. Peter debated with himself for ten seconds and decided Harry definitely needed to be checked up on, what with his unbelievably short temper and overreaction tendency.

Peter landed on the Oscorp Building’s rooftop and climbed down the wall and windows to look for Harry floor by floor.

During his search, he noticed the building itself was almost empty and the lights were mostly off, which reminded him that it was weekend. When he peeked through a window of the eighteenth floor, he immediately found his friend.

Dressed in typical business attire, Harry was leaning back against his desk and watching two middle-aged men argue in his office. One of them was chubby and almost bald, the other was thinner but not _thin_ and had a little more hair than the chubby one.

“We’re not an ATM,” the almost bald guy said firmly.

“I never said we were, Phil.” the guy with more hair was pissed and impatient and desperate, “So what if the cost is a bit high? Spending a little money now would help us earn _big_ in the –”

The almost bald guy, Phil, cut him off, “Thirty million dollars is not _a little money_.”

The guy with more hair was clearly frustrated, “If this campaign worked, we’d earn at least a _hundred_ million in return!”

“And if it didn’t, we’d waste thirty million.” Phil said, “The Company can’t afford your _gamble_ right now. _I_ can’t afford your gamble right now. The Shareholder Meeting –”

“Is next month, I know!” Guy with More Hair snapped, “It’s not a gamble, asshole, it’s an investment!”

“Before it pays off, it’s just a gamble.”

“Oh yeah? Then what do you propose we do to sell the new line?”

Phil replied patronizingly, “Something that doesn’t cost thirty million dollars.”

Guy with More Hair glared, “Well, let’s have it: how much are you willing to give us?”

“Ten million.”

“A third?! Just because you’re the _fucking_ CFO, doesn’t mean you can –”

“You bet your _ass_ I can!”

“Guys,” Harry stepped in tiredly, “I need to review this with Joe and the others, so before we reach our conclusion, just _Calm. Down._ ”

Phil and Guy with More Hair looked reluctant, but they agreed. After Harry told them both to go home and have a nice weekend and _remain calm_ , they grudgingly left.

Harry closed the door and turned around to face the windows with an annoyed look.

“So, Spider-Man, just how may I be of service?”

“You knew I was here all along?” Peter poked his head into view, upside-down style.

“Obviously,” Harry said indifferently, “what do you want?”

“Can’t a guy drop by and say ‘hi’ to his best friend anymore?” Peter joked, but it came out sounding defensive.

“In this case? No, of course not. I thought I told you not to –”

“ _Call_ you, I know. So I’m not _calling_ you; I’m visiting you.”

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, whatever, I’m almost done here anyway. So swing away, or something.” he said dismissively, “I’ll be home in half an hour.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. He had a (temporary) home to go back to, where there were _people_ actually waiting for him. He never cared for expensive furniture and luxuries, but he did crave human company, and that was the reason he liked living in the Osborn Mansion. Harry just called it their “home”. He knew Harry didn’t mean anything by it, but the idea of sharing a _home_ with _family_ made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Peter suddenly wanted to tempt fate.

“Any chance you’re interested in swinging home _with_ me?”

Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea after all. Harry stared at him as though he was nuts.

“Peter, Tim is waiting in the car, I don’t need more publicity, _and_ you don’t exactly inspire confidence with your amazing personality.”

“All right, you don’t want to swing home with me, I get it. But did you have to be so nasty about it?”

Harry regarded him coldly. “ _Yes._ ”

Peter huffed unhappily and rolled his eyes at his friend, not that Harry could see it through the mask, but it made him feel a little bit better.

Harry seemed to think he was too busy to waste any more time on the lowly (but selfless and brave) Spider-Man, so he returned to his desk and started sorting out files that needed to be taken home. Peter stared at him from the other side of the windows and remained upside-down, wondering how long it’d take for Harry to say –

“ _What?_ ” Harry snapped and glared at the upside-down superhero.

_Sixteen seconds. That’s a new record._

“Just observing,” Peter answered nonchalantly.

“Don’t you need to _patrol_?” Harry was more than annoyed.

“I’m on coffee break,”

“So go get your coffee,” Harry returned his attention to the files and ignored him altogether.

Harry was no fun. At all. Peter sighed and watched Harry looking through a thick pile of paper (probably financial statements), his brow furrowing every now and then as he stopped at some pages and looked at them closely with his remaining eye. Peter studied the blinded eye and the burned half of the face, and he was reminded of that terrible night again.

Desperate to distract himself, Peter opted for conversation. “Just so you know, I broke the big vase in the hallway this afternoon…”

Harry’s head immediately snapped up and he stared at Peter with eyes so wide that Peter thought his eyeballs were going to pop out.

“You _what_?!”

“It was an accident!” Peter said quickly, “I was reading that note you gave me and I wasn’t looking where I was going and –”

“Did you clean up the mess?” Harry asked passively.

“Of course! Well, more like Bernard cleaned up the mess, but I helped!”

“I knew you’d be trouble…” Harry then got distracted by something in the document he was reading and the subject was dropped.

Peter frowned. That was it? He’d broken his expensive-looking vase and all Harry did was complain a little?

Harry quietly sighed as he put the document down. He closed his sore eyes briefly before opening them again to put documents into his (unsurprisingly) black briefcase. Then he turned off his (what the heck?) black laptop and stuffed it into the briefcase as well. Peter noticed once again how distressed his friend looked, how his shoulders sagged in fatigue and his movements were slow and lacked energy. Peter wondered sadly when Harry had become such a joyless puddle of stress.

“Harry?”

“What?” Harry responded without looking up.

“Charlie is a menace,”

Harry closed his briefcase and looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“He got me _twice_ today,” Peter pretended to look annoyed; though, all truth be told, he _was_ annoyed. Very, very annoyed.

“Did he now,” Harry’s mood had improved drastically, “A cunning little guy, isn’t he?”

“I’ll say,” Peter rolled his eyes, “I swear, he’s got your morbid sense of humor.”

It worked like a charm. Harry obviously took great pride in Charlie and his robot evilness, so any complaint from the intended victim lightened up his day like no other. He actually _smiled_ , though that smile was caused by (immature) malicious smugness.

“Okay, you don’t have to be so smug about it, do you?” Peter asked wryly. So maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to remain upside-down for so long, because now he was seeing things: there was _no_ way Harry just gave him a somewhat grateful smile that disappeared all too quickly.

Harry just shrugged and pushed his huge black chair back against the huge black wooden desk, then he grabbed his heavy briefcase and walked towards the door.

“Hey, you’re not even saying goodbye?” Peter did his best to pretend to be hurt, though he knew Harry wouldn’t buy it anyway.

“Goodbye,” Harry turned off the lights and left the office, locking the door behind him.

“This, is getting annoying.” Still hanging outside the windows upside-down and staring into the now dark and empty office, Peter decided he didn’t like the recently emerged tendency of Harry turning off the lights on him.

-:-

Peter got back to the Osborn Mansion later that night after doing another round of patrol. When he swung back into the guest room, he found Charlie staring at him from the doorframe.

“Charlie, I swear, this is not –”

_Bang!_

The bolt wasn’t fired, but Peter was on the ceiling anyway, and Charlie looked as though he’d die from giggling.

Peter wanted to web that lunatic robot into a web ball. “You know you’re one sick robot, right?”

Charlie just kept on giggling.

Peter entered the dining room after changing clothes, only to find Harry reading newspaper at the long dinner table with Bernard clearing out the table beside him. They both looked up as he approached, Bernard with a smile, and Harry a brief nod before returning his focus to the news.

 _Wall Street Journal again?_ Peter craned his neck to look at what Harry was reading. _Why not New York Times for a change? That’s a lot more liberal –_

“My dad made a donation to Wall Street Journal, so we have free permanent subscription.” Harry said, eyes not leaving the newspaper.

 _How did he DO that?!_ Peter stared at his friend. _Seriously, **can** he read minds?_

During his patrol, he’d been thinking about ways to make Harry less unhappy, and now seemed like a good time to put them into practice.

“Hey, Harry,” he tried to sound casual.

Harry looked up at him with his remaining eye.

“Do you need to work tomorrow?” Peter asked as he sat down, and good old Bernard brought him a plate of Buffalo wings.

Harry regarded him cautiously. “No.”

“In that case, I was just thinking it’s been a long time since we last went out together and Central Park –”

“Pete,” Harry interrupted before he could finish inviting him to the Central Park, “It’s raining tomorrow.”

Ouch. Okay, so _maybe_ going out wasn’t the best idea.

“So you’re not interested?” Peter sometimes did wonder why he had the stupid habit of asking obvious questions, but he needed to make sure.

It was apparent Harry’d planned to be mean and nasty again, but he seemed to have changed his mind midway after he saw how crestfallen Peter was, “I _would_ go with you, buddy, but I have a…surgery tomorrow.”

A surgery?

“For what?” Peter asked, concerned that Harry might have managed to contract a terminal disease right after his brush with death.

Harry looked at him passively, expression irritated and sarcastic.

“What?” Peter asked uncomfortably. What did he do this time?

Harry just continued with the Look and refused to answer.

Then Peter had an epiphany.

“Ohhhhh,” he exclaimed in revelation, and Harry waited not-so-patiently, “For your neck, right?” he missed the despaired roll of eye from his friend, “Office people always get neck problems after using computers for too long!”

Bernard looked between amused and sympathetic, Charlie was staring at him like he was very funny, and Harry was…looking at him as if he was the most embarrassing creature he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter.

Peter felt defensive. “Hey, if I keep getting it wrong, why don’t you just spell it out for me already?”

Harry stared at him, narrow-eyed and resentful, and turned his face a bit sideways, revealing more of the disfigured half.

Peter winced. Unsure of what to say to that, he lowered his gaze to the cooling chicken wings.

“Sorry,” he said, which was all he dared to say.

He chanced a glance at Harry, who just shrugged indifferently as if he’d already got over the whole I-am-disfigured thing.

“I actually prefer not having the surgery, but the Board’s right: the Shareholders and customers don’t need any more reminders of the _Oscorp Curse_ .”

Peter nodded. Looked like his friend wasn’t about to start screaming and hurling pumpkin bombs at him. Phew. To further promote peace and serenity, he cheerfully picked up a Buffalo wing and chewed on it, because a normal dinner atmosphere needed normal stuff for basis. “But why would you _not_ want to get your face fixed?”

Harry frowned, “I don’t like the idea of people putting skin from somewhere outside my face _onto_ my face.”

“Oh.” That kind of made sense. Having finished a chicken wing, Peter began chewing on another one. “Where are they getting the new skin from, anyway?”

Harry narrowed his eyes and said in a manner that indicated how distasteful he found the answer to be, “My butt.”

Peter choked on the Buffalo wing and only narrowly avoided having the bones stuck in his throat.

“What?!” he stared at his friend after getting the dangerous food out of his mouth.

“Yup,” Harry nodded in confirmation, eyes fixed grimly on the dining table before him. “Either there, or some skin from another _person_.”

Okay, now that was even more disturbing. Wasn’t there a movie about a blind girl who got a new pair of eyes from someone else and started seeing ghosts and all those crazy stuff? Totally creepy.

“They’re gonna fix your eye, too?” Peter asked, trying to steer his thoughts _away_ from disturbing horror movies.

“No,” Harry said, firm as steel, “I don’t appreciate having someone else’s _eyeball_ in my socket.”

Okay, he really needed to stop thinking about that movie.

“Then what about artificial ones?” Peter tried and failed to banish terrifying scenes of the movie’s trailer from his mind (yes, he’d only watched the trailer; got a problem with that?).

“No, thanks.” Harry replied without delay.

That was probably a good choice since with an artificial eye, Harry would remind him of those _Terminator_ movie posters –

_STOP associating Harry with movies, Parker!_

“But you said the shareholders –”

“Look,” Harry put the newspaper down with a loud _thump_ , “I’m already making compromises for them with my _face_ , so they’d better _back off_ with my _eye_.”

Peter nodded in agreement desperately, smelling the start of another round of Harry’s volcanic eruption. “Geez, buddy,” he tried to grin brightly, hoping to bribe his way out of being at the receiving end of his friend’s temper, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you don’t even want to have your face fixed!”

Harry’s eyes narrowed and stared at him, annoyed and pissed.

“I mean, _don’t_ you want to get your face fixed?” Sensible questions like that would probably only make Harry the Grouch snap.

“ _No,_ ” Harry snapped. Figures. “I don’t like people messing around with my face.”

“It’s not like they’ll _really_ change your face,” Peter reasoned, “that’s why it’s called ‘restoration’. Besides,” he knew he shouldn’t say it, but he was going to anyway, “your face is already changed.”

Surprisingly, Harry didn’t scream “And all thanks to you!” as Peter had expected – perhaps he did mean what he said about forgiving him for the disfiguration… What a good person.

“And I’ve had enough face-changing for this lifetime, so if you don’t mind, I’d rather keep it to a minimum.” Bitterly Harry added, “Not that I have a choice.”

Huh. So Harry thought restoring his face meant even more change to his already changed face. Peter was sure more than half of the world population would disagree, but this was Harry they were talking about: stubborn, depressed and, just a little bit, slightly crazy. Like his dad.

Somehow thinking of Norman Osborn reminded him of the haunted guest room. And thinking of the haunted guest room reminded him of a very, _gravely_ serious problem.

Harry’d picked up his _Wall Street Journal_ , and Bernard took Peter’s empty plate back to the kitchen with Charlie beeping and following behind cheerfully.

Peter steeled himself; now seemed like a good time to broach the subject.

“Uh…Harry?”

Harry glanced at him.

“About the sleeping arrangements… _you know_ …”

His friend just looked at him, wearing that irritatingly mocking expression.

Silence ensued.

When Peter was about to give up, Harry finally sighed in resignation, “Fine.”

-:-

When bedtime came, Harry bade everyone goodnight and went into his study for another late night conference call. Bernard and Charlie left for their room while Peter left for Harry’s.

Peter pulled out the lovely mattress from the closet and laid the mattress down fondly, wondering if growing attached to a mattress was considered a type of mental illness. But frankly, he _loved_ the mattress!

He cheerfully got his blanket and pillow ready for the night as his mind wandered cheerfully.

_Why do I get the feeling that I’m not supposed to be so cheerful?_

Oh.

Oh, crap.

He’d totally forgotten about the night patrol! Peter rushed back to the guest room, momentarily forgetting that it was supposed to be haunted, and turned on his police radio quickly. He just in time caught the latter half of a transmission regarding a fire in downtown Manhattan.

-:-

When Peter got back to the Osborn Mansion’s dimly lit living room, it was already past midnight. He was tired, filthy, and covered in ash.

Apparently some homicidal nutcase had decided to set an entire apartment building on fire to vent his frustration at the current economy and, and Peter quoted, “It’s just not fair these people get to hole up in their fancy little apartments when we’re starving in the cold!”

Peter wanted to punch him for thinking killing innocent people was _fair_. He managed to rescue all of the residents with the firefighters (they’d really done a good job, by the way – good men), but he was saddened by the looks of fright on the residents’ faces as they watched their homes being burned down to nothing but ashes and ruins.

Yet what haunted him the most were the criminal’s eyes. Underneath the hatred and fury and madness were genuine anguish and sorrow, despair for a hopeless life and a bleak future.

This just proved Peter’s theory of the recession boosting the crime rate. Maybe he should write a paper on that… “On the Correlation between the Health of the Economy and the Frequency of Criminal Activity”. Yeah, he could publish it on _Wall Street Journal_ or _Business Week_. Who knows, maybe he’d even get a Pulitzer for it… Or Nobel. Who’d ever think he would get a Nobel for economics? Or was it sociology? Did they even _have_ Nobels for sociology?

Peter wondered as he tried to distract himself from the sadness this incident provoked in him. He looked around the nice living room fondly. _I sure hope nobody tried to burn **this** building down. _But then again, this place was full of rich people, so maybe they should set up some emergency water system to automatically pour water…

“Nope, carbon dioxide is still a much better choice,” he muttered as he got out of the upper half of his dirty Spidey suit. He knew it was probably impolite to stand half-naked in Harry’s living room, but everybody was asleep and he was too uncomfortable and tired to care.

“Better choice for what?”

Peter nearly jumped onto the ceiling at the abrupt appearance of Harry’s voice. He seemed to have developed some kind of reflexive reaction involving getting onto the ceiling in the face of possible danger… It was all Charlie’s fault. Stupid crossbow.

He turned to see Harry regarding him passively on the couch. A dark blue mug with an Oscorp logo on it was in his bony hands. So Harry’d been here all along; he must have been really exhausted to have missed his friend’s presence altogether.

“Hey, buddy,” Peter greeted tiredly, “I was just thinking about the best way to put out a fire. By the way, carbon –”

“I know what carbon dioxide is, Pete; everyone does.”

Oh. Right. “You done with the conference call?”

“Yeah,” Harry sipped whatever it was in his mug. Probably coffee. No, not if Harry was planning on getting some sleep. So maybe…milk? Juice?

…Why did he even care again?

“So destiny called, huh?”

Peter was pulled out of his decidedly arbitrary mind-wandering by the question. “Some guy set an apartment building on fire.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, “Lunatic.”

“Yeah,” Peter nodded, pleased that Harry wasn’t _too_ indifferent about this disaster. “But what are you doing out of bed?”

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “Just thinking,”

“About…?” Peter prompted, curiosity piqued.

Harry gave him a dry smile, “You really wanna know?”

Peter nodded encouragingly.

“Okay, then,” his friend set the mug down, and Peter finally saw what was inside: plain old water. How utterly unimaginative and Harry-ish.

“I was thinking about Oscorp’s new contract with Epsilon, and the meeting with General Bio on Friday, and the lunch with the Bobs on Wednes –”

“The Bobs?” Peter’d actually started calculating the level of boringness of those thoughts, but the weird name still caught his attention.

“Two guys from the Fed. Both are called ‘Bob’.”

“…Huh,” said Peter, wondering why there were so many Bobs around Harry. As far as he could tell, Harry’d been talking to a Bob last night, and now, another _two_ Bobs. He bet Guy with More Hair was a Bob, too.

“Hey, Harry? What’s Guy with More – that guy’s name? You know, the guy arguing with Phil today in your office.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Bob.”

Ha! Right on.

Then he noticed Harry was looking at him with that unimpressed look again, as if he could guess what ridiculously random thoughts he was having in his head. Feeling self-conscious, Peter cleared his throat, “ _Anyway_ , you were saying?”

He was still surprised when Harry just carried on as if nothing had happened.

“And the lunch with the Bobs on Wednesday, and my twenty-six meetings with different departments and the Board next week, and I have to call J.P. Ford –”

“J.P. who?”

“President of Ford Medicine. And the biotech conference two weeks later, and I have to fire a guy, and I have to make a public announcement after the surgery, and, of course, my surgery.”

“Wow, that’s quite a handful…” Peter wasn’t sure if he was supposed to sound impressed or sympathetic, so he went with the neutral tone.

It was then Peter suddenly realized that he was still standing half-naked in Harry’s living room and _in front of_ Harry himself. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, but Harry didn’t seem to notice. Or care. His friend just picked up his Oscorp mug again and sipped his water, eyes downcast.

Debating between putting the filthy costume back on and just pretending he was in fact fully clothed, Peter wondered…

_Eureka!_

_…Parker, you’re such a nerd. But a brilliant nerd. A nerd who is a GENIUS!_

See, he’d got it _all_ figured out. Harry was sitting in the living room all by himself in the middle of night with no company but a boring cup of water _because_ he was nervous about the upcoming surgery.

“It’s gonna be all right, Harry,” he smiled reassuringly when Harry looked up at him, “It’s just a surgery; people have them all the time.”

Harry just shrugged and went back to staring at the water in his mug.

Peter groaned inwardly at the lack of reaction. “If you want, I could accompany you.”

Harry glanced up at him, obviously thinking he was nuts again.

“By…sitting outside the operation room. And showering you with family warmth and friendship when you’re done.”

Harry just grunted and returned to his water-staring.

Oh well. Nobody could say he hadn’t tried, right?

Peter was itching to take a shower right now, but he didn’t like the idea of leaving Harry alone in the living room with all those depressing thoughts. It was like his friend had a perpetual rain cloud over his head.

Peter was about to suggest his friend to get some sleep when Harry finally finished his water. Harry went into the kitchen with the mug and Peter heard him washing it at the sink. When Harry reemerged from the kitchen, Peter half-expected him to just go upstairs as if he wasn’t there.

But Harry stopped somewhere near him.

“You can come to the hospital if you want,” Harry said wearily, yawning. Peter decided to take that as a “Yes! Please go with me! Your friendship is the only thing keeping me sane in this miserable world!”

“And, Pete?”

Peter snapped out of his daydream where Harry saw him as the bestest friend ever in the whole universe. “What?”

“You’re lucky Bernard’s asleep – he’d have a heart attack if he saw you like this.”

So Harry did notice. A particularly teasing reply was right on the tip of Peter’s tongue, but Harry then added:

“He wouldn’t appreciate having a filthy household pest in the living room he’d just cleaned up.”

Why did the guy have to be so mean, again?

-:-

To be continued…


	4. In Which Peter Invites Harry to the Central Park

As Peter lay on the mattress, drifting between asleep and awake, he contemplated nothing in particular; just random thoughts about soft mattresses, powerful air conditioning systems, fluffy pillows, comfy blankets, warm covers…

Harry’s surgery…

Peter sighed and sat up to look at his slumbering friend on the bed next to his mattress.

Harry looked anxious even in his sleep, which was sad. Some fond memories crossed Peter’s mind as he was reminded of one of their late night cramming sessions in college: Harry was so stressed out for his Genetics midterm that his face looked like the world was coming to an end even after he dozed off. Peter felt sorry for him back then, even more so because Peter’d always thought Genetics was kind of an easy A.

Harry had almost zero talent for biology and chemistry – sorry, did he say 0? he meant -10 – so it was a miracle that Harry managed to survive in the biochemistry department of _Columbia_ that long (before he finally had enough and switched majors). But then again, he was trying to prove himself to his dad, as always. Except now he was proving himself to the Board and the entire industry.

Peter sighed and lay back down. He sometimes wished they were still in college, with nothing to worry about but their grades.

-:-

“So…how do you feel?”

The surgery itself was quick and successful, and Peter was now sitting beside a rather silent Harry who was told to stay in bed in the hospital room.

Given Harry’s mood lately, Peter wasn’t exactly surprised at his friend’s gloomy silence. The problem was: was Harry silent because he was pissed at Peter? Or because he was pissed at the world in general? It might sound terrible and selfish, but Peter hoped it was because he was pissed at the world in general.

Peter tried not to stare at Harry’s mummified head, but really, the guy’s head looked hilarious! His entire head was wrapped in so many bandages that it resembled the head of a snowman, his eyes the only part exposed. Since his eyes were still visible, Peter could tell Harry was not pleased with the situation; not pleased at all.

Speaking of Harry’s mood, he still refused to talk.

Peter shifted in his chair to get more comfortable and tried again.

“How are you feeling, buddy?”

Harry’s eyeballs turned towards him and gave him a Look.

“Uh…why aren’t you talking to me?”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in annoyance.

It suddenly hit Peter.

“You can’t talk?”

A noise sounded like Harry impatiently exhaling through his nose came out from the nose’s general location on the mummy head.

Harry grabbed the pen and notepad on the bedside table without moving his head and proceeded to write on the notepad swiftly. When he was done, he turned the notepad around to show Peter what he wrote.

Peter’s first impression was Harry really had ugly handwriting when he was pissed, but he quickly reminded himself that he was supposed to _read_ the (unsightly) writing:

OF COURSE I CAN’T TALK, YOU MORON.

Peter didn’t like his mummy-headed friend’s penmanship, and he didn’t like the message, either. _So you wanna be all bitchy even when you got only your eyes, is that it?_

Peter would have gotten defensive, but he’d always been a chivalrous person, so he refused to argue with someone both with the head of a snowman and stuck in the hospital bed.

“You know, you could’ve at least _pretended_ to thank me for being here for you.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed again and he swiftly wrote on the notepad:

(PRETENDING) THANK YOU FOR BEING HERE FOR ME.

“Jesus, Harry, you’re so mature.”

THANKS, YOU’RE NOT TOO BAD YOURSELF.

“ _I_ spent two hours of my _Sunday_ sitting on a god-awful chair waiting for _you_ while I could well be doing my homework. I won’t be subjected to your ungrateful, _crummy_ writing!”

Harry’s eyes widened marginally.

CHRIST, WHY WEREN’T YOU DOING YOUR HOMEWORK?

“Hey, _don’t_ judge me.”

SO THERE’S A REASON YOU NEVER TURN IN YOUR PAPERS ON TIME.

“Ha ha, you’re so funny, Harry, you know that? And I don’t mean funny ha ha, I mean funny vicious.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STATING THE OBVIOUS.

“You know what, I’m not having this immature conversation with you.” For good measure, Peter added, “And you’re wasting paper.”

THEN YOU’RE WASTING OXYGEN.

Peter sighed and decided to take a vow of silence himself.

Oh spit. He just realized a pattern and he had a very clever remark that he simply _had_ to share. This must count as the shortest-lasting vow of silence ever.

“You know, Harry, thanks to you, hospitals and I are basically dating each other.”

Harry rolled his eyes, but they somehow seemed embarrassed and, just a little bit, grateful.

-:-

The doctors took the bandages off of Harry’s head that evening so he was all set to work tomorrow. Jeez, somebody actually loved Mondays.

To be honest, Peter thought the doctors did a pretty good job: Harry’s “new” face looked exactly like the old normal one. Except the blinded eye, but that went without saying. Peter doubted Harry was thinking straight when he made the decision to leave it that way; the shareholders would definitely notice the creepy eyeball, and wasn’t _not_ getting the shareholders’ attention the whole point of getting his face fixed? That iceman John Morgan and his fellow corporate jerks probably thought of it, but Harry could be quite uncompromising and irrational when he wanted to. He definitely got it from his dad. Poor Harry.

On Monday morning, Harry was no friendlier than before, but also not nastier, so overall the morning was normal. Problem started after Peter got back from class.

He was just perching on the top of the Chrysler Building, taking a short break from the afternoon patrol and contemplating the hidden potential of pigeon crap, when he heard explosions from the street below.

-:-

The Board wasn’t too satisfied with the quarter’s earnings, Harry didn’t blame them; he wasn’t, either. From another perspective, the company’s negative earnings were steadily decreasing and approaching zero, meaning Oscorp _had_ been making progress.

As usual, Morgan sat at the end of the conference table, his back to the windows, with the rest of the Board members seated along the sides. Harry never enjoyed the fact he was always seated at the other end of the table, forcing him to face Morgan’s cold gaze directly.

“As we all know, the bio industry is getting some good faith from Wall Street this quarter. The Shareholder Meeting is on December 23rd, we _must_ improve the earnings before then.” Andreoni said grimly.

Harry had a likely, no, _brilliant_ solution to that, and he was sure he’d get the Board’s approval. “Well, the fastest way would be to lower production costs. We could cut the inventory expense down to twenty percent,” the Board seemed interested and expectant – good sign. Time to go in for the kill. “If we…”

He must be seeing things. He did _not_ just see Spider-Man swinging past the boardroom windows behind Morgan. Now that he thought about it, there’d been screams, explosions and sirens on the street below for a while now.

“Harry,”

Harry immediately turned his attention back to the Board members, who looked slightly irritated. _Well done, Peter._

He probably looked like his brain just went blank because Andreoni prompted again, “If we…?”

“If we…” He forgot what he was going to say. Great. Okay, now he remembered. “If we keep our suppliers, especially Epsilon, close enough to –”

A wrecked police car flew past the boardroom windows behind Morgan.

“Harry.”

Harry blinked and found that Andreoni and the rest of the Board looked supremely annoyed at him, which was understandable since he just stared at (the windows behind) Morgan’s face for no reason _twice_ in one minute. Morgan himself remained calm and collected, but his icy gaze clearly said: _You are a moron and I’m not even going to ask what you keep seeing behind my head. Moron._

Peter was in trouble, Harry could tell from all the commotions outside. But of course the Board was utterly unfazed by the screaming and things getting blown up; after all, this was New York City, the favorite get-together location for superheroes and supervillains alike.

And he ought to get back to pitching his strategy. He knew the Board would approve; Joe liked it, and Joe said even his dad would have liked it. All he needed to do was finish the pitch.

“If we keep our suppliers close enough to share…”

The sound might be too far away for the Board members to hear, but his serum-enhanced ears heard someone shouting “Run, Spidey, run!” Oookay, so someone was not only throwing police cars but also beating the shit out of Peter.

“You okay, Harry?”

Harry realized he looked like he was staring at Morgan’s face again. Now the Board looked positively exasperated.

“Harry,” Andreoni sighed, “would you kindly just _get on with it_?”

“Of course, John.” Harry inhaled deeply. All he needed to do was finish the pitch.

He stood up.

“I have to go. It’s a…family emergency. I’m sorry.”

Harry forced himself to quickly exit the boardroom before he had a chance to change his mind. The Board was too shocked to make any immediate comment, so his abrupt departure was accompanied by incredulous silence.

Joe, who’d been waiting outside, was astonished to see him out of the meeting so soon.

“Boss?” Joe immediately followed him as he swiftly made his way down to his office.

Harry slowed down for his executive assistant to catch up. “Joe, I gotta go.”

“But what about your perfect pitch?”

Harry stopped in his track and sighed. Yes, his perfect pitch.

“Family emergency.” _You owe me big time, Spider-Man._

It was a blatant lie. Thankfully, Joe just paused briefly and then nodded, not asking any more questions. He didn’t know about the messed-up supervillain history of Harry’s family or, for that matter, the superhero connection, but he always knew where not to tread. God bless the guy.

“Right. I’ll go calm the Board.”

Harry nodded and they parted ways.

-:-

This “Shocker” guy was starting to get on Peter’s nerve. They’d just started fighting for five minutes after Peter caught him robbing Citibank (what was _with_ criminals these days?) in broad daylight, already _Spider-Man_ was running for cover. Well, at least pillowface wasn’t blowing up bank vaults and police cars anymore. Speaking of the police, they were doing a swell job of clearing the street and keeping people out of harm’s way, so two thumbs up for the police.

But seriously, though, what _did_ Shocker put in those metal gauntlets of his?! The compressed air thing was getting impossible.

Peter dodged another blast of air from Shocker’s gauntlets with a back-flip and the high-frequency air blast blew up an empty yellow cab instead.

“Hey, watch it!” Peter yelled as he shot some webbing towards the yellow clad villain. “Somebody’s whole income might depend on it!”

Shocker dodged the webbing. “Gee, sorry, bug, I forgot to pay attention to social decency after I _robbed a bank_. I mean, I wouldn’t wanna be rude.”

Peter leaped into the air and punched Shocker’s head from above, but Shocker’s suit deflected the punch and he blasted the hell out of Spider-Man instead. Peter was thrown into a building’s wall by the air blast and he fell onto the sidewalk below with a loud _thump!_ Peter groaned as he got up with a hurting spine. _Ow._

“Just remember, webhead,” Shocker aimed one of his gauntlets at Peter, “it’s nothing personal.”

“So you’re paid to lure me out by robbing poor Citibank and then blast my head off? How is _that_ not personal?”

“Because I did it for the money?”

“But you think you can take me out with a costume made of cushy _quilt patches_ , which makes it _highly_ personal.”

Really, the guy was covered from head to toe in yellow quilt patches (though he did wear leather boots). To his credit, he had some decently positioned leather as part of the costume, but the overall effect still made him look like one human-shaped pillow with deadly air blast-shooting gauntlets. Yes, the suit deflected attacks and made him annoyingly hard to grasp but, come on, _seriously_.

An air blast was fired his way and Peter quickly dodged. He slung a string of web onto a streetlight to swing over and kick Shocker right in the face. Shocker yelped in pain and was knocked down to the ground.

“Sorry ’bout that, pillowface, I did know that’s not covered by city health insurance.”

Shocker got back to his feet quickly. “Let’s see how hard you kick with _powdered bones_ , bug.”

Then it was rapidly fired air blasts from then on.

According to Peter’s observation, Shocker fired concentrated vibrational air blasts by pressing the buttons on the gauntlets. And Peter’d been trying to use web-blobs to cover those buttons five times already, but each time Shocker dodged in response. Or simply blew the web-blobs up with his gauntlets. Then Peter aimed the web-blobs at his eyes, but even that didn’t work.

Peter shot another web-blob at Shocker while leaping away from another air blast, finding cover behind a flipped police car.

Huh. Web-blobs vs. air blasts. Why did Spidey sound grossly underpowered? The Shocker was no worse for wear, but Peter was running out of covers.

Peter tried to catch his breath behind the wrecked police car, but Shocker was obviously approaching.

“’smatter, Spider-Man? Spider stamina didn’t get enough coffee this morning?”

Like he said, obviously approaching.

Peter suddenly jumped onto the police car and shot a web-blob to completely wrap Shocker’s right gauntlet in webbing. “Think again, bunky!”

Shocker didn’t even pause; he just ignored the webbing and shot another air blast at Peter. The webbing covering the gauntlet was blown off along with the air blast and, for reasons obvious, Peter wasn’t expecting it, so he got blasted the hell out of once again.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Shocker watched as Peter, who swore he got a broken rib, struggled to stand up, “I’m just a little too crafty for you.”

Asshole.

An orange object landed near Shocker’s feet and detonated immediately, sending him flying into a bakery nearby.

A pumpkin bomb? Peter looked around only to see a guy in cheesy black sweater and pants and a huge, ridiculous…helmet? Anyway, whatever that thing on the guy in black’s head was, it was big, black and hilariously-shaped. Peter decided to call it a giant black chunk of metal. So a guy in black with a giant black chunk of metal covering his head just came to his aid.

“Loser-Man, you murdered my pitch!”

Now that snarky voice sounded familiar. Wait, was that…

“Harry?”

“Of course it’s me, you idiot. Who did you think I was, _Batman_?”

“Batman doesn’t exist.”

“That’s debatable.”

Shocker walked back into the battlefield all wobbly and shaken and smelling of croissants, one of his gauntlets completely toasted.

He held his apparently aching head with one hand, “And who the hell are you?” he stared at the giant black chunk of metal, “…Tank-Man?”

“No, I’m the guy with a big gun.” Harry brought out a – Jesus, that was a really big gun.

Shocker obviously agreed. “Point…taken. Seriously, though, what’s with the giant black chunk of metal?”

Peter finally stood up completely. “Yeah, buddy, what’s with the giant black chunk of metal?”

“It protects my hundred thousand-dollar face and the company stock price, genius.”

“And the boring costume?”

“You expect me to wear my Armani?”

So Harry was at the Oscorp Building, where he only stored pointlessly expensive suits and distasteful sweaters and pants.

Shocker suddenly asked, “Are you one of those Manhattan assholes working in a shiny skyscraper?”

Harry’s only response was pointing the really big gun at the villain’s face.

Shocker quickly took a step back, “Okay, _okay_ , calm down! I’ll, uh, I’ll just go.”

“Oh, _no_ , you don’t –” Before Peter could stop him, Shocker fired an air blast their way, blasting the hell out of Peter and Harry _both_ this time.

After the smoke and dust cleared, Shocker was already gone. Peter groaned and got up for the whatever-th time that afternoon. Harry stood up as well, but his giant black chunk of metal came out of the blast without a scratch.

“You okay, Harry?”

“I would have been if you hadn’t ruined my Board meeting.”

Peter decided to change subject. “Where did you get the big gun?”

“It’s just a prototype the labs gave me to inspect. We’re developing a new weapon for the Air Force.”

“Cool! You ever tried it?”

“I was going to right after the Board meeting.”

Changing subject! “Is that almighty metal on your godly head for tanks?”

Harry’s eyes (the only exposed part of his head again) closed with pride. “Army tanks.”

“So you _are_ Tank-Man!”

“ _Please_.” Harry said condescendingly, “The name won’t stick.”

-:-

**SPIDER-MAN AND NEW PARTNER TANK-MAN DEFEATED THE SINISTER SHOCKER**

Peter couldn’t help but smile at the evening newspaper’s headline. _Oh, it sticks, all right._

Harry had gone back to the office after Shocker got away, trying to “save the perfect pitch”. Though Peter’d never asked him to come, his help was timely and Peter was grateful for that.

On another note, he got to see Harry in a new light. Harry was grumpy and unfriendly, yes, but he still cared about Peter enough to choose Peter’s survival over his Board meeting. Harry might be a sarcastic and ungrateful douche sometimes, but he could be nice when he felt like it.

Peter put the newspaper on the dining table as he heard the distinct whirring of Charlie approaching. He looked down and stared at the mantis cautiously.

Charlie only made some cheerful chirps and whistles and bumped his knee cheerfully before rolling back to Bernard’s side in a most cheerful manner.

Peter wondered if that was Charlie’s way of greeting him after he got home.

_Fine, the robot is a sweetheart._

-:-

“We could drastically reduce inventory cost if we keep our suppliers close enough to share transactional information with them.”

The Board wasn’t _too_ mad at him anymore. And now, they looked intrigued. Again, God bless Joe.

“We’ve already centralized our supply chain information and functionality into a single manufacturing system.” Harry continued, “By giving the suppliers direct access to real-time inventory and shipping data, the suppliers will know exactly what the daily production requirements are.”

Andreoni leant forward, “Then the average lead time required for material procurement will be cut.”

Harry turned to him, “And so does the number of employees needed to contact suppliers.”

A couple of Board members nodded in approval at this assessment.

 _Deep breath, Osborn, you can do it._ “In high tech industries, it’s easy to have obsolete inventory, and inventory in general is mostly created by demand uncertainty. If we implement the transactional information sharing system, the suppliers will be constantly updated on our transactions, which means they’ll know instantly when to deliver the materials required for immediate production. Our order fulfillment time will become so short that we won’t be dealing with much uncertainty at all.”

There was an air of mild excitement in the boardroom.

“The suppliers will maintain a few days of inventory in nearby multi-vendor hubs. If inventory level is too high or too low, we’ll work with them to correct the levels. While Synthetech, JSK, P&D and others carry twenty to thirty days of inventory, we’ll only carry _four_.”

The Board murmured, some in suspicion, some in cautious amazement.

Schneider considered the proposed strategy with narrowed eyes, “Reducing inventory also reduces accounts payable…” he looked up in pleased surprise, “We get paid by the customers before we pay the suppliers.”

Harry slowly let go of the breath he’d been holding, finally relieved, as the Board members started discussing his proposition with flattering enthusiasm.

In the end, Morgan concluded: “I’m sure we all agree that Harry’s proposition is going to benefit the Company spectacularly.”

-:-

Bernard assured Peter that he didn’t need to wait for Harry to have dinner, but Peter insisted on waiting because he wanted to seem as sincere and grateful as he felt when he thanked his friend for saving his hide earlier.

The doorbell chimed and Bernard went to open the door. Harry was back.

Frankly, Peter had been rather anxious ( _not_ terrified) about Harry’s reaction at seeing him; he just might have ruined his “perfect pitch” so horribly that it simply wasn’t salvageable.

Harry was _humming_. Well, he seemed to be in a good mood. Good sign.

Peter greeted his tired-looking but smugly smiling friend cheerfully, “Hey, buddy!”

“Hey, buddy!” Harry replied in kind, still happy and smug.

“So how did it go?”

Harry, back in his Armani (he actually _wore_ one?!), announced in a most self-satisfied manner, “They said my idea would benefit Oscorp _spectacularly_!”

“All right!” Peter wasn’t sure what idea his friend was referring to, but he assumed it was what the “perfect pitch” was about.

This might be a good time to bring up what he’d been thinking about earlier. “So, Harry, I was thinking –”

“Charlie!” Harry crouched down in front of the mantis excitedly, “They approved!”

Charlie looked confused but still happy for his maker.

Peter tried again, “So I was thinking maybe –”

“Bernard, they APPROVED!” Harry announced proudly to Bernard, who just emerged from the kitchen with Harry’s and Peter’s dinner.

“That’s wonderful, Harry!” Bernard congratulated as he put the plates down.

Okay, _obviously_ Harry was so immersed in his euphoria that he forgot common etiquette.

Peter exhaled in frustration and started again, “Harry, I was thinking maybe we could –”

The phone rang loudly (and in Peter’s opinion, obnoxiously).

Harry immediately rushed over to pick up the phone, dead serious.

“How was it, Phil? Yes. Yes, exactly. We’re not going any higher than that.”

Peter sighed and sat down to have his (heavenly) meatloaf; he’d totally given up on _his_ pitch to Harry.

“Is that _so_? Tell Jim Plates to go fuck himself.”

Wow, business people do indulge themselves too much in profanities.

“I agree, they’re just wasting our time. Call those assholes and tell ’em the deal is off.”

Peter finished his meatloaf as Harry put down the phone and sat down across from him.

Peter was thinking about meatloaves and cranberry sauce and Thanksgiving dinner when Harry looked up from his process of taking off his shoes. “What were you trying to say again, Peter?”

Peter knew there was a reason he loved the guy.

-:-

Turned out his pitch was a perfect pitch, too, because Harry agreed to go to Central Park with him on Saturday morning. Peter admitted he might have taken advantage of Harry’s good mood then, but it was the only way to get his friend outdoor for some fresh air.

Harry’s euphoria wore out pretty fast, and none remained by the time he started having his scheduled conference call that night. He was back to his old self again, all stressed and gloomy and testy.

Peter was worried that Harry would back out on their agreement due to work or tiredness, so he didn’t get his hopes up, expecting Harry’s change of mind any moment. He wouldn’t even be surprised if Harry just plain forgot about their Saturday outing.

Harry, on the other hand, had become increasingly short-tempered and irritable over the week as December drew near.

Sometimes all Peter said was a friendly “Hi!”, but what he got in response was “You Satan’s spider, you came into this world saying ‘hi’ and RUINING PERFECTLY GOOD COMPANIES!”

And if Peter said “How are you?”, Harry would snap instantly, “How am I? I’m just PEACHY, thank you. Is collecting information on me part of WHAT SYNTHETECH PAID YOU TO DO?!”

Bernard explained that it was because of the stress, “It tends to make people, er, grouchy.”

The good thing was, Harry was so busy that he forgot to make Peter move out. Peter _had_ been trying to locate a new place to live, but without much income he couldn’t afford anywhere. And by “without much income” he meant “really, really honest-to-god trying to find a job but the recession had ruined any chance for him so he could only do freelance stuff every once in a while”.

Though Harry was “grouchy” most of the time, in some rare occasions he was simply fatigued and not-grouchy. In those precious moments, when Peter greeted him, he would only say “Go to hell.” Peter knew it wasn’t _that_ much of an improvement, but at least Harry didn’t start yelling his conspiracy theories about Peter being some kind of secret agent hired by Synthetech to bring doom upon Oscorp.

Overall, Oscorp had been making progress. According to the evening news:

“ _Having acquired contracts with the U.S. Army, Air Force and Navy, Oscorp has secured itself a rather promising new year. Analysts believe that the technology giant just might start posting positive earnings again._ ”

With December just around the corner, New York was mostly covered in snow, and it was the only time of year when the Big Apple actually looked pretty. Many people thought snow was beautiful, or romantic, or “magical”, but in truth, snow was a bunch of swooshing little bastards that got in your face all the time.

Because of the annual shareholder meeting that would be held right before Christmas, there was a significant negative correlation between Harry’s grouch level and the number of days left before Christmas. Peter should know, he’d even plotted a graph for it.

In contrast, supervillain crime rate actually _dropped_ as Christmas neared, as if supervillains were feeling the Christmas cheer, too. Seemed like everyone was happy for the holidays except Harry Scrooge.

Saturday was here before Peter knew it. He uncharacteristically woke up early that morning because his outing with Harry was at the unholy hour of eight. Frankly, he couldn’t remember why he’d suggested _eight o’clock_ on a _Saturday morning_ in _winter_ ; maybe he was suffering from brain damage caused by Shocker’s stupid gauntlets. He now had a profound understanding of the concept “bitterly cold morning”.

He sat up from the mattress on the floor (Harry even forgot to kick him out of his room) and found his friend was, as usual, already gone from his bed. Peter had an uneasy but not unexpected feeling that Harry was going to cancel their trip soon, like _very_ soon. Yep, he was all ready for that. Actually, he’d been ready for that for the whole week. He wondered if Harry was even home at all.

As Peter went downstairs to the dining room, he heard Harry’s grim voice talking to something. Probably his new best friend, the phone.

Sure enough, as Peter entered the dining room, Harry was standing next to the phone on the sideboard, receiver in hand, and obviously trying to stop someone from talking.

“Nelson. Nelson. Nelson, shut up.”

Wow, Peter wished he could just tell people he didn’t like to shut up, too.

As he sat down in his customary chair across from Harry’s, Bernard brought his hot breakfast from the kitchen and put the plate down in front of him with a friendly “Good morning, Mr. Parker.” The old butler then cleared Harry’s empty plate away while Peter continued his observation of his friend’s phone call.

“Now I’m gonna make myself _very clear_ : the answer is _NO_. We’re _not_ selling the weapons division.”

The weapons division? Wasn’t that the (evil) _heart_ of Oscorp?

“ _Rea_ lly? And what would we be left with? _Energy_ and _biotech._ Do you know what that even _means_?”

Obviously, this “Nelson” guy was persistent and loud; Peter could even hear his ranting from where he sat. Meanwhile, Harry seemed to have switched tactics.

“Yeah. Okay. Sure. Mm-hmm. Of course. You know what, I completely agree with every word you say, my young prodigy, but the discussion is over.”

Then Harry hung up, cutting off anything Nelsie wanted to say in defense. Peter had to say he admired Harry’s ability to be rude to people when he wanted to; Peter himself could never do that even if someone was being an ass to him. He should definitely get a medal for his prowess in Niceness.

Harry sat back down at the table and looked at the breakfast-eating Peter in contemplative silence.

Harry’d always got incredibly dark eyes, and it was rather uncomfortable to be under their scrutiny. Not that Peter minded the attention. Peter wasn’t usually an attention-seeker, but he actually _loved_ attentions. Especially when thousands of his fans were chanting his name and cheering him on as he swung over them and gave them high-fives… But he digressed. The point was, attention from Harry wasn’t unwelcome, especially when his grouchy friend had been ignoring him for the better part of the past week.

But Harry was also frustratingly unpredictable right now, so just to be on the safe side, Peter assumed Harry hated his guts and the only reason he was looking at him now was that he was planning the unspeakably painful death of the Good and Brave Peter Parker.

When the silence had become so intense that it was more than unpleasant, Peter spoke up.

“For the record, Harry, if you want to ask if I got the scrambled egg from Synthetech, then you should just go for it. Because then I’d get to tell you I got it from Bernard, and then Bernard and Charlie would get to be my eye-witnesses, and we’d all get to embarrass you.”

Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Then _I’d_ get to tell _you_ you’d better hurry up with your chewing or I’m canceling the Central Park trip.”

“Oh yeah? Then _I’d_ get to – wait, what?”

“Eat faster, genius.”

“We’re still going?”

“Not if you don’t start eating faster.”

“Hey, eating too fast is bad for your health.”

“So is talking while you eat.”

-:-

Peter started to think he and Harry were in fact quite alike, despite their many differences (especially Harry being crazy). Harry was responsible just like he was, and reliable just like he was – and no, a couple of missed appointments and assignments didn’t make him any less reliable than Harry.

But that didn’t matter. What did matter was that Peter was having a _blast_ right now!

Central Park wasn’t as good-looking in winter’s white as it was in spring’s green or fall’s yellow and red (or summer’s dark green, but the weather was _way_ too hot in summertime). But since the snow made the park look like something out of a Christmas card, Peter wasn’t about to complain. One good thing about cold weather combined with early Saturday morning was that the park was peaceful and quiet due to a lack of people.

Harry hadn’t made any snarky remarks so far, so there was a good chance he was enjoying himself, too. Or at least not hating it. The two of them strolled around, not caring where they were going. They didn’t talk much; Harry was just focused on walking and looking around, while Peter was busy figuring out stuff he could say without invoking his friend’s wrath.

Though they weren’t like they used to be, it gave Peter a comfortable feeling to simply walk with someone, knowing his companion despised him too much to expect anything from him. His life had been more than complicated, so he appreciated little simplicities of life, such as this easy moment. Funny that it was provided by Harry, of all people.

The only disturbing aspect of this outing was that Harry was wearing _his dad’s_ black scarf. Okay, granted, Harry and Norman Osborn both looked good in black, but did he have to wear his evil dad’s evil stuff to Central Park? Especially when Central Park looked all cheery and Christmasy? He’d never understand why his friend loved his father so much. _Yes_ , the guy was his dad, but he was also _evil_. Like world-destruction, baby-killing _evil_. How could Harry not think his dad was evil when he _knew_ his dad was the infamous Green Goblin?

But that wasn’t Peter’s business, so maybe he shouldn’t stick his nose where it didn’t belong.

“Hey, Harry? Why do you love your dad so much?”

…See? Sub-zero weather was _not good_ for too much thinking.

Oh well, he might as well go with it.

Harry narrowed his eyes and stared at him like he was the most tactless person he’d ever met.

“Are you always so tactless or you’re just deliberately tactless around me?”

“I was just…thinking aloud!”

“Then your thinking needs more tact.”

“Got it, already put it in the memo to myself. But seriously, though, _why_?”

Harry eyed him coldly, “Why do you love your Aunt May?”

“It’s not the same. Aunt May isn’t evil.”

“Neither was my dad. It was the Goblin.”

“How would you know it was?”

“How would you know it wasn’t?”

Peter supposed that was fair.

Somehow it was important to Peter that Harry stopped being so attached to the senior Osborn. Perhaps it had something to do with his subconscious fear that Harry, now pumped with the same serum responsible for his dad’s insanity, would one day decide to follow his beloved father’s footsteps and become _like him_. Peter’s blood curdled at the thought. No, Harry would never become Norman Osborn. Not if Peter could help it.

“But he was _evil_.”

“Oh ho, so you want to play stubborn? How’s this: I loved and still love my evil dad because I’m an evil person.”

Peter rolled his eyes at the immaturity of Harry’s response. “If you’re going to be that way, why are we even talking about this?”

“Why, indeed.”

Harry might be not-grouchy now, but he was still a complete ass.

Having decided the discussion was closed and given Peter the glare of the century: the Harry Osborn-patented Mind-Your-Own-Fucking-Business Glare, Harry just kept on walking, mostly ignoring Peter. Peter could only sigh and remind himself to just be glad that his friend didn’t demand to go home after he’d pissed him off. Not that it was _his_ fault; Peter was a scientist and it was a scientist’s job to ask inconvenient – _not_ nosy – questions. Not to mention he was also a good and caring friend.

Peter was assuring himself of his not-nosiness when he noticed they’d just reached the Lake. The Lake had yet to freeze over completely, only a thin sheet of ice covering most of the water surface. There weren’t as many birds here in winter as in other seasons, but still, a few members of the bird species had decided to stick around.

The benches around the Lake were mainly unoccupied, so Peter and Harry found one with a nice view of the lake and sat down.

“You know,” Harry suddenly spoke up.

Peter was broken out of his reverie about Christmas and winter break, and he turned to regard his friend, surprised that he was the one to initiate a conversation after their “argument”.

Harry was still facing the water as he continued, “In the dark of the night, I sometimes consider putting the Goblin serum into our bio products.”

Peter choked on his own saliva. “WHAT?!”

Harry tilted his head in a self-satisfied manner, eyes on the lake, “It will be the hand soap. Just imagine,” his voice adopted an ad-narrator tone, “ _Green®, the next-generation hand soap with serum bubbles. Whatever the ambition, make it happen._ ”

All things considered, Harry’s impression of the voiceover for commercials was pretty good, but since the content was just deranged and demented, the impression was actually _bad_.

Peter was about to advise his friend to save his ad-writing talent for something actually beneficial to the society when he realized something.

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

Harry finally looked at him – he was _smiling_. In the most annoying way imaginable.

“You should’ve seen your face, Peter.”

Okay, now that was full-blown grinning. Jerkass.

But then Peter thought about it, and understood that the only reason Harry did what he just did was that _he_ wanted to break the tension between them so they could enjoy this outing like they were supposed to. Harry was too proud to try to explain himself to Peter, so his hand soap commercial did the job: _I’m not blind; I know what my dad did, what he was capable of. But it wasn’t him._

…Well, if Harry actually wanted their little Central Park adventure to work out, then maybe Peter could wait till later to convince Harry that his dad was evil and never deserved his love. Or, he could ask Bernard for some insight into Harry’s mind! The old butler would understand.

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw a wild duck trying to land on the lake surface.

“He’s going to crash-land.” Peter pointed at the duck who intended to land gracefully but failed to take into account that the lake had iced over.

Harry turned his head just in time to see the poor duck slip on the ice and stumble head first onto the cold surface, sliding forward a little. Harry burst into laughter at the comical sight, his laughter more sympathetic than amused. Peter laughed with him, because it _was_ funny. Poor duck.

After the wild duck salvaged his dignity and skidded away to join his flock on the snowy shore, Harry looked at Peter and Peter took the chance to give him a meaningful smile, telling him that he understood and would shut up about his dad. For now.

Harry paused. The Mayday Duck and his flock had moved from the shore into a nearby part of the Lake that was still liquid.

Harry regarded Peter carefully.

Peter held his breath when he saw the beginning of a genuine smile on his friend’s face.

Then the whole flock took flight suddenly, flying across their vision and up into the sky. Peter watched as hundreds of wings flapped and splashed up sparkling drops of water, filling his vision with fluttering feathers. It was breathtaking.

Peter chanced a look at Harry, curious about his grouchy friend’s reaction at the beautiful sight.

Harry was spellbound. He gazed at the departing flock, fascination and wonder lit up his eyes, and the earlier friendly smile had become so open and bright that Peter forgot to breathe.

The moment passed quickly. Harry returned his attention to Peter as Peter pretended his mouth hadn’t just gone dry because of one single look at Harry.

“I bet we’ll see pigeons next.” Peter commented cheerfully.

Harry snorted, “And enjoy their never-ending crap?”

They moved onto bullshitting about Central Park birds. But the extraordinary moment lingered in Peter’s mind.

-:-

To be continued…


	5. In Which Peter Tries to Get His Job Back

Peter had always been a fan of information. Information is awesome. It is useful and helps advance the human race.

It would also help Peter get into the darkest corner of Harry’s mind. A brave, daunting task, Peter knew, but that was just how far he was willing to go for his friend. He should have named himself Fearless Neighborhood Spider-Man. …Which didn’t really make sense.

 _Any_ way, Bruce Wayne had Alfred. Harry Osborn had Bernard. So, if Alfred knew everything there was to know about Batman, then Bernard must know everything there was to know about Harry. That made total sense.

Peter thus decided to ask Alfred – Bernard for insight into Harry’s slightly crazy mind and, hopefully, he’d figure out a way to make Harry de-love his evil dad.

Peter found Alf – _Bernard_ cleaning up the living room while Harry was in his study talking on the phone again. Perfect.

“Hey, Bernard!” Peter greeted cheerfully as he entered the living room.

He’d got it _all_ figured out: he would act all casual and unleash his irresistible charm on Bernard, whose resolve to protect Master Bru – Harry’s privacy would no doubt _crumble_ under the onslaught of Peter’s unrelenting charisma and the old butler would just spill, _spill_ everything Peter needed to know.

“Hello, Mr. Parker.” Bernard replied kindly as he handed a misplaced throw pillow to Charlie who happily rolled to the end of the couch and returned the pillow to its rightful place on the last cushion.

Peter was momentarily distracted by the admittedly cute human-robot cooperation before he remembered his mission. “Can I ask you something?”

Bernard gave him a friendly smile, “Of course.”

Irresistible Charm: activated. Unrelenting Charisma: acti –

“Is it about Mr. Osborn?”

…Crap.

Bernard looked at Peter calmly while Charlie returned to the old butler’s side and stared at Peter curiously.

Peter tried to act casual.

“Er, yeah?”

At least he’d tried _._ That was all that mattered. Seriously.

Bernard spoke slowly, his tone still friendly, “If this is about Harry and his father, I suggest you let it be.”

“But he was evil!” …Okay. Unrelenting Charisma, remember? Right.

Peter cleared his throat. “But, my dear Bernard, do you not agree that Norman Osborn had taken more lives than…than…absolutely necessary?”

Wow. His Unrelenting Charisma made him sound like a pretentious British-wannabe douchebag. A bumbling, pretentious British-wannabe douchebag.

Bernard looked puzzled by Peter’s odd behavior, and Charlie looked bored. When it became clear Peter wasn’t going to say anything anytime soon – it wasn’t like it was _his_ fault that he was too embarrassed to think of anything! – Bernard, tactful as ever, continued their conversation as if nothing of the pretentious douchebag kind had ever happened.

The old butler said gently, “If you’d met Norman Osborn before Oscorp had a Board, before…the serum, you would understand why Harry still loves his father. Norman Osborn was really someone to behold, and what he and Harry had was special, the kind of bond that lasts for a lifetime.”

“But –”

“Harry’s mother ran away with a younger man when Harry was five.” Bernard said suddenly.

Peter paused. At the Thanksgiving dinner, Norman Osborn did mention something about beautiful mothers and snarling and wolves and money.

Oh. Harry’s mom was a _gold-digger._ _Whoa_. He never knew. No wonder Harry never talked about his mom. _Jesus Christ._

Poor Harry.

Peter wanted to ask more questions. Don’t get him wrong, he did feel sorry for his buddy, but just like any normal human being with a healthy sense of curiosity, he needed _details_. Holy crap. Poor Norman Osborn. He might be an evil psychopath, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be cheated on.

Peter was totally, completely, entirely against cheating, mostly because he knew how being cheated on hurt.

Then Peter realized he was most effectively distracted from his mission.

Clever, Bernard. _Very_ clever. Too bad Peter Parker was clever _er_ and he would never –

“It broke Harry’s heart. He said nobody loved him. Then his father said, ‘I do. And I always will.’”

…Was Bernard serious? Or was he just making that up to distract Peter from his honorable quest again? Peter went through his memory to see if there was any indication from the past that Bernard was one cunning old fox –

Bernard continued, “If you want to be friends with Harry again, you need to accept his attachment to his father.” He looked at Peter earnestly, “Harry will always love his father.”

So _this_ was the point of that story. Bernard was telling him to _quit_. Well, Peter was no quitter.

Except if what Bernard said was true, then he didn’t really stand a chance against that kind of father-son bond. No wonder Harry was so upset when Peter, jackass in black that he was, mocked his memory of his dad.

And Bernard, cunning old fox that _he_ was, got one thing right: Peter did want to patch things up with Harry for real. Sure, they were _kind of_ friends again, but there was this tension (read: homicidal hostility) between them that Peter would really like to get rid of for good.

Obviously sensing Peter had something he wanted to say, Bernard waited patiently.

Since Bernard was actually a cunning but nice old fox, Peter decided to ask him something he’d been wondering for a while now.

“Where do we stand, Bernard?”

“You and Mr. Osborn?”

“You and me,” Peter really liked talking to nice friendly people; they made him feel calm, at ease, and he wouldn’t be so on edge that he blurted out stupid, embarrassing stuff. Bernard was one of those nice friendly people, unlike _someone_ who was constantly in a cranky mood, whose default state was Pissed. Jeez.

Bernard smiled and answered without hesitation, “You are a member of this household, as am I.”

In other words: they were family.

So Bernard was not only a cunning but nice old fox, he was a cunning, nice, _awesome_ old fox. Peter really loved the old man.

Peter knew he was probably beaming like an idiot, but he didn’t care right now. He stepped forward and shook Bernard’s hand firmly. The old butler was surprised by the gesture, but then he smiled warmly and shook Peter’s hand back.

Charlie chirped cheerfully and extended his right scythe for Peter to shake. Peter shook the offered scythe, taking a moment to commit this poignant scene of reconciliation between predator and prey to memory.

Peter was rather pleased with how this conversation had turned out, so he decided it was time for his dramatic exit.

With a hopefully _badass_ “See you guys around”, Peter turned around and walked away without a backward glance.

“Mr. Parker?”

Peter turned back around and realized he needed to work on his badass-ness: Bernard and Charlie were simply puzzled by his behavior.

Then Bernard said, his eyes earnest, “I meant what I said, you do need to accept Harry’s love for his father if you want to clear the air between you two.”

…Right. Got sidetracked again. By himself this time, no less. At least now he knew Bernard was sincere; the old butler had just reminded him to consider his own mission.

Bernard was his ally now, and allies should trust each other. Thought Peter as he made his way back to the guestroom and homework after he nodded at Bernard’s request.

Harry was even more stubborn than a mule. However, if someone came along and told Peter not to love Uncle Ben, he would probably punch that person in the face.

Even if Uncle Ben had been a criminal instead of the saint he was, Peter realized.

He was lucky the people he loved were simply good people, and perhaps it was easy for him to judge others. When things were complicated like Harry and his dad, when the father you loved and adored suddenly became evil, maybe it wasn’t that easy to only love people that were good.

Maybe it was time he admitted not even Spider-Man could win this one.

Admitting defeat was never fun, but at least this one was kind of a relief. Peter heaved a sigh and realized he’d been staring at his Plasma Physics problem set for almost an hour.

He really needed to work on his focus for homework if he ever wanted to finish grad school.

Peter stood up and walked to the guestroom door, poking his head out to listen. Harry had apparently finished his call. And dinner was almost ready. Peter took a deep breath and steeled his resolve before going downstairs.

Harry was already at the long dining table reading newspaper as usual, and he looked up as Peter entered the dining room.

“Hey, Harry,” Peter greeted brightly.

“Hey,” Harry took in Peter’s cheerful demeanor and narrowed his eyes cautiously.

It was better to just get it over with.

“So…just so you know, I totally support your unfortunate love for your evil dad.”

Harry’s eyes got narrower. “…Thanks?”

Harry really was stupid sometimes.

“No, no. You don’t get it. I mean I support, _embrace_ your unfortunate love for Norman Osborn.”

Harry eyed him dubiously, nodding, “That’s what you said.”

“No. _No._ I mean –”

“I know what you mean, Peter, no need to repeat it so many times.”

_Then why aren’t you moved to tears? You totally don’t get it. Jesus. Such a burden to be one of the only smart people on Earth._

“What I’m saying is –”

Harry cut him off condescendingly, “You support my love for my dad. Hurray. All right. Awesome. Splendid. Please don’t repeat yourself again; what you’re saying is pretty obvious and self-explanatory.”

Fine. So maybe Harry did get it, except he decided to be a dick about it.

Peter sat down across from Harry and leaned forward on his folded arms on the table, “Well?”

Harry studied his bright, cheerful, rightfully I’m-so-proud-of-myself smile before his eyes widened marginally – that blinded eye was still creepy as hell – as realization dawned.

Harry sighed, as patronizing as humanly possible, “Pete, you thought I would, what, _hug_ you for that?”

Feeling defensive all over again, Peter straightened. “Don’t you feel like we’ve cleared the air?”

“Cleared the air of what?”

“Your resentment!”

“Peter,” Harry sighed, apparently feeling sorry for Peter’s stupidity. The jerk. “I resent you because you almost murdered my company, not because you didn’t support my love for my dad.”

…Right. That. Peter just knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

“So the hostility’s still here.” Peter remarked dryly, frustrated but not really surprised.

Harry nodded, “And you’ve only got yourself to blame,”

Asshole.

Bernard brought the dinner out and Peter caught the old butler’s shocked, distressed glance at him. So Bernard had heard the whole thing and even he was surprised that Harry was utterly unmoved.

_O, what hast thou become, Harry Osborn? Even Bernard doesn’t recognize you anymore, ya **jackass**._

Yeah, so, turned out Harry’s hostility could only be removed by Oscorp’s resurrection. Which was completely out of Peter’s hands.

Peter sighed inwardly and picked up his fork. At least the grilled salmon looked heavenly –

“Peter,”

Peter looked up and saw Harry looking at him with a neutral expression, his own fork untouched.

“Central Park was great,” said Harry stiffly, “Thanks.”

…What?

Peter’s confusion must have shown since Harry cleared his throat and elaborated, looking…apologetic?

“I was being an ass,” Harry kept his eyes on Peter’s salmon, “You’re just trying to help. With your questionable way of thinking. As usual. Sorry.”

Peter blinked.

Harry had just apologized to him.

 _Harry_ hadjust apologized to _him_. And it didn’t matter it was in a mildly insulting way, because Harry had actually said “sorry”.

Harry kept his eyes downcast and continued, “And, Central Park was nice, that poor duck was hilarious, and I do feel much better now.”

Peter discretely pinched himself, and oh _god_ he was definitely not dreaming. _Wow_. “Are you saying…what I think you’re saying?”

Harry finally looked up at him and actually nodded. Peter must have done something _really_ gods-pleasing lately to get this _miracle_ as reward. “I never did thank you for dragging me outdoors this morning.” Harry paused, “It was a nice change of pace.” Another awkward pause, “I appreciate it. Thanks.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. Harry had just apologized _and_ thanked him, literally, _sincerely_ , with real feelings and all that.

He swallowed and tried to get his dry throat working, “My pleasure, buddy.” His voice came out a little hoarse and sentimental, but he knew the smile on his face was unmistakably bright.

Harry didn’t smile back but he nodded again, much more relaxed this time, and picked up his fork and knife.

Peter decided this day had been a pretty good day. He happily picked up his own cutlery and began cutting the salmon. It smelled _very_ nice, so he said conversationally, “That fox Bernard really does know how to spoil a guy,”

Getting no replies, Peter chanced a look at Harry. Not that he expected any actual reply from him, but Harry always let him know if he’d heard him. The guy didn’t even grunt this time.

Harry was staring at him in shock.

What? What did he say _this_ time?

Peter met Harry’s shocked stare head-on. “ _What?_ ”

Harry, still staring at him with wide eyes, asked slowly: “Did you just call Bernard a _fox_?”

“…No?”

“Right.”

“I called him a, a…sox. Box! I called him a box!”

“Which makes total sense,”

“A paradox! I called Bernard a _paradox_!”

“Of course.” Harry agreed condescendingly and went back to his salmon.

Great, now Harry was judging him. And he probably thought Peter was some sick pervert who lusted after esteemed senior citizens. _Just_ great. Peter sighed.

“And Pete?”

Peter looked up from his salmon again and was greeted with a relaxed, genuine smile that could light up the whole Manhattan, energy-consuming skyscrapers included.

“I’m glad you support my love for my dad.”

Aunt May always said if you treated people with a true heart, you would be rewarded with love one day.

And this time, Aunt May was right.

-:-

Jameson stared at Peter from across the desk like a hawk staring at the annoying itch on its back.

This was a bad idea. Peter knew it all along, but he really needed a job. Not that Harry was kicking him out anytime soon (bless Harry and his busy schedule because he had yet to remember that kicking Peter Parker out was on his priority list), and as much as he liked living in the Osborn Mansion with Harry, Bernard and Charlie, Peter hated feeling like a freeloader. His scholarship would get him through grad school (thank you, Columbia!), but his pride forbade him to just live off of Harry’s wealth and do nothing in return.

And there was also the small matter with Harry’s unpredictable temper. Peter would need cash for a place to live if he ever pissed Harry off enough to be chased out by semi-sentient flying pumpkin bombs.

Heartened by the miraculous Saturday, Peter had spent the whole Sunday morning building up the resolution to call J.J.J. and then the whole Sunday afternoon building up the resolution to _actually_ call J.J.J.

Jameson would never be Peter’s dream boss, oh _no_ , sir, _not in a million years,_ but right now, after being rejected by just about every company that might need a photographer – _Shame on you, National Geographic, my pictures are pure professionalism!_ – he was Peter’s best shot at getting a real, solid job.

Jameson agreed to give him an interview after Peter groveled and begged on the phone for only two minutes, which meant either Jameson was in a good mood or Peter was _really_ good at groveling and begging.

Meanwhile, Jameson finally stopped his staring and appeared to have made up his mind about something.

“Parker, I don’t like you.” Jameson stated flatly with certainty, “I’ve never liked you.”

Peter shifted in his chair anxiously.

“You’re a no-good, irresponsible, ungrateful, self-righteous, irritating, _overpriced_ deadbeat.”

Peter gulped.

“ _But,_ ” Jameson paused, probably for dramatic effect, which was music to Peter’s despaired ears, “We have a staff job opening, and I miss verbally abusing you. _And_ I miss your Spider-Man pictures. So I better see those on my desk tomorrow morning before eight or you’re _fired_. Understood?”

Peter wanted to cry, kiss Jameson, and kiss Jameson some more. He’d got his _job_ back! Thank every deity of every religion and myth! Yes!

“By the way,” Jameson lighted a cigar, “Freelance still pays the same, staff jobs now pay only half.”

“But, sir –”

“You want this job or not, Parker?”

Peter almost dropped to his knees, “I do want this job, Mr. Jameson! And I really appreciate you giving me a second chance! But I need more money than that!”

Jameson took the cigar out of his mouth with a frown and pressed the intercom button and hollered, “Miss Brant!”

Betty, sitting outside, pressed the button and replied, “Yeah?”

“Get me another violin.”

Peter really, really, _really_ didn’t like J. Jonah Jameson. But sucking up to people you didn’t like was part of being an adult, he supposed.

He couldn’t afford to lose this job again. Not after he’d finally got it back.

Peter took a deep breath and said resolutely: “Mr. Jameson,”

Jameson looked at him impatiently.

Peter tried to stop his hands from shaking and said in a clear voice, “Double the freelance money,”

Jameson glared. “That’s outrageous – I don’t run a charity! Done.”

The orchestra and angels were back and they sounded more joyful than ever!

Peter rushed forward and shook Jameson’s hand with both hands eagerly, “Thank you, Mr. Jameson! Thank you so much! I promise you won’t regret this, sir!”

Jameson pulled his hand out in annoyance and dismissed Peter dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Don’t forget: Spider-Man pictures, my desk, eight sharp, or kiss your shiny new job goodbye.”

“Yes, Mr. Jameson! Don’t worry, Mr. Jameson! I won’t let you down, Mr. Jameson!” gushed Peter as he backed out of Jameson’s office.

Before he could say goodbye to Betty once he was out of the office, Jameson’s voice blared through Betty’s intercom: “Brant! Get Parker out of here before my ass catches mono!”

-:-

Peter felt like he was _soaring_ as he swung among the skyscrapers. It was early December and why hadn’t he ever noticed just how beautiful these energy-wasting buildings were before?

No matter, he’d just got his job back and _whoa_ did he feel _hiiigh_!

Peter got his act together after he’d nearly swung into a head-on collision with a bird.

Still feeling extremely happy and content, Peter decided that the best way to enjoy this newfound joy was to spread it. He took a sharp turn, doing a summersault in the process just because he could, and swung towards the Oscorp Building.

Peter landed on the windows of Harry’s office on the eighteenth floor and looked inside. It was empty. Harry’s black laptop was in hibernation mode on the large desk but its owner was nowhere to be seen.

Huh.

Peter couldn’t deny he was kind of disappointed that he couldn’t find Harry. Very disappointed, actually. More disappointed than he should be, which was downright weird.

Talking voices snapped Peter out of his reverie and he quickly crawled out of sight.

The office’s door opened and Harry walked in, Joe Kramer and Phil following closely behind. Peter took in their black suits. Why did these people always have to dress like they just came back from a funeral?

Phil said as he closed the door behind him. “As I was saying, sales may have improved, but the production cost is still too high.”

Harry sat down in his large chair behind the desk as Phil and Kramer took the two seats on the other side of the desk. Harry said, “What did Bob say about this?”

Phil snorted, “‘It’s the best we can do.’ As if they’re doing _enough_.”

Peter looked at the back of Harry’s head and wondered if Phil and Kramer, who were facing the windows, would notice Spider-Man peeking at them. That would be just awkward.

Peter backed up a little until he couldn’t see the three businessmen himself.

“And Archer?” Harry’s voice.

Phil sounded derisive. “He said Marketing told them they can’t ‘compromise the quality’. Since when does _Manufacturing_ take orders from _Marketing_? Manufacturing’s proud and strong when everything’s peachy, but when we’re in deep shit, _suddenly_ , it’s ‘we have no balls and we listen to _everything_ Marketing says’.”

Harry sighed and, after a brief pause, said, “Joe, get Bob and Archer here tomorrow after lunch.” Another brief pause, “And Roger, too.”

Kramer sounded bemused. “Marketing, Manufacturing _and_ Sales?”

“Roger’s always blaming their less-than-stellar sales revenue on Bob and Archer.”

Phil chuckled drily, “’Cause those two couldn’t ‘get the production cost low enough’?”

Harry’s voice was weary, “ _And_ they can’t ‘meet Sales’ needs’. Might as well get them all together and get _everybody’s_ needs on the table.”

Kramer said, “So, Bob, Archer, Roger, here, 12:30 tomorrow?”

Harry’s voice was fond, “Lunch’s 12:00 to 1:00, Joe. Make it 12:40.”

Peter felt sorry for the three guys whose lunch break was gonna be cut short tomorrow. See? This was exactly why he never wanted to work in big companies. And no job offers from them had nothing to do with it!

Peter didn’t realize Kramer and Phil were already out of the room until Harry showed up next to the windows, craning his neck to look up at him. He seemed annoyed. How surprising.

Peter climbed down so Harry didn’t have to twist his neck at such a weird angle. Peter sometimes couldn’t believe how nice he was himself.

Peter stopped at a very considerate height for Harry, but then he was immediately struck by a sense of déjà vu – the first time Mary Jane kissed him. M.J. was so beautiful in the rain, and Peter still remembered how hard his heart had pounded when she slowly peeled back his mask. Mary Jane was standing and Peter was upside-down, they were face to face, just like Harry and him right now.

Except there was this giant piece of glass between them. And Harry was considerably taller than Mary Jane. And considerably less appreciative of his company.

And _why_ was he thinking about Mary Jane again? He’d promised himself he wouldn’t think about M.J. and her beautiful, sparkling eyes and sweet smile and – Stop it. No, seriously, Brains, stop it. He could feel his heart broken all over again.

Only then did he realize he’d just compared that beautiful, most cherished memory in the rain to _Harry Osborn_ , of all people. _Why?!_ Why did he _do_ that? M.J. was beautiful and sweet and kind, and Harry was…Perpetually Pissed. He’d just ruined one of his most precious memories himself. Now he couldn’t think about Mary Jane and his first kiss without seeing Harry’s highly unpleasant face at the same time.

And most importantly, why did he – or attempt to, anyway – put Harry in a _romantic_ setting? A setting of kissing in the rain? God, that was disturbing.

“If you’re just going to stay there in a mindless daze, could you at least not do it on _my_ windows?”

Harry’s irritated, impatient voice cut through Peter’s self-induced misery and Peter remembered where he was and what he was doing. Harry was, for lack of a better word, pissed, as usual, with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed and everything.

Peter cleared his throat, tried and failed to stop feeling sorry for himself, and said, “Hey, so I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by and say –”

“ _I love chilling on your windows for no reason and getting my bug filth all over them?_ ” Harry did an awful impression of Peter. Seriously, just because Harry’s voice was lower than Peter’s didn’t mean he should make his voice _that_ high when mimicking Peter. Offensive asshole.

“For your information, I was _reminiscing_ a minute ago.” Peter said defensively.

Harry raised a rude eyebrow, “So, you were in the neighborhood, and you were struck by the sudden urge to swing by and _reminisce_ on my windows?”

Peter knew how stupid he’d looked just hanging there upside-down staring at Harry’s face and not saying anything, but he was the one that came all the way here – all five minutes of swinging! – to visit this douchebag, so Harry didn’t get to mock him _now_.

“Fine, I was weird earlier, you win. But can’t you at least, for once, be _glad_ to see me?”

Harry looked at him as though he was out of his mind. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because we’re _best friends_?”

“Even though said ‘best friend’ ruined my life?”

There it was again, that whole I-ain’t-being-nice-to-you-unless-my-baby’s-okay attitude. Why did Harry have to be so difficult, again?

Peter stopped his “I didn’t kill your father!” impulse just in time – stupid classical conditioning – and gauged his options. Would “I told you I’m sorry!” work? This was Harry, one of the most unforgiving, vengeful, vindictive persons he’d ever met, so…probably not.

Peter was seriously considering “Why do you have to be such a bitch?” when Harry, impatient dick that he was, sighed.

“Why are you here, Peter?” he asked tiredly.

The plain fatigue in Harry’s voice got Peter’s attention, and he immediately felt sorry for his friend.

Harry needed to lighten up a bit. Or a lot. And Peter finally remembered what he came here for.

“I got my job back,” Peter didn’t mean for his voice to sound so breathless and giddy, but now that he was finally saying those words out loud, he felt _hiiigh_ once again.

Harry’s eyes widened and visibly straightened his back, “What?”

Peter really shouldn’t be held responsible for what he did next: he screamed in joy like a teenage girl. “I GOT MY JOB BACK!”

Harry would probably deny it if anyone ever asked, but he’d actually _grinned_ : “That’s awesome, buddy!”

-:-

Bernard and Charlie were happy for Peter when he informed them of the good news. It was nice to have someone to share good news with. Peter started to think Bernard and Charlie were the reason he hadn’t gone crazy under the torment of Harry’s unpredictable temper. But then again, to be fair, Harry had been kind of friendlier than before, but wise old men and charming carnivorous insects were still essential to Peter’s sanity.

Peter sat down across from Harry at dinner when he was hit by the thought of something horrible: now that Harry knew Peter had a job again, he just might _kick him out_.

Peter didn’t want to move out. He really didn’t. He liked Bernard and Charlie, and he liked not going back to a lonely home everyday. He knew he wouldn’t stay with the Osborns forever, of course, but he had hoped he’d at least stay until Christmas. Or New Year. Or St. Patrick’s Day. Easter, actually.

 _Anyway_ , the thing was, Aunt May was still having fun in sunny California, and he really, really didn’t want to be alone right now.

Besides, he had a feeling he was on the right track of becoming Harry’s _real_ friend again. If he moved out now, he’d have to start all over again, and he doubted he’d have the same luck next time.

And if he was perfectly honest with himself, spending time with Harry had been…nice. Not that Harry’s company was particularly enjoyable, but for some reason Peter still liked hanging around him; there was something about Harry’s sturdy presence that Peter found soothing. Calming.

Peter covertly cast a glance at Harry and found he was absentmindedly, gloomily chewing, as usual. Peter looked down at his dinner again, wondering if his unbelievable good luck today would persist.

“So you got your job back,”

 _Well, what do you know, it **didn’t**. I’m so very shocked. _ Peter thought drily as he anxiously looked up at his unfriendly friend. Harry looked calculating, as if he was judging him. Peter swallowed the mouthful of turkey and answered with an ass-kissing smile, “Yeah?” _Please don’t kick me out, please don’t kick me out, please don’t kick me out!_

Harry’s lone eye studied him judgmentally. “Which means you have steady income again,”

Would it work if he lied and said “no”?

Before Peter could finish the thought, the look in Harry’s eye changed and he’d obviously just taken the hesitation as “yes”. This was not good.

“Which means you’ve regained self-reliance,”

Oh no. Peter knew where this was going. So he did the only thing he was capable of doing right there and then: he buckled under pressure.

“Wait!”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, apparently annoyed that he was interrupted. Gripping his fork like a lifeline, Peter took a deep breath, and spoke with utmost dignity: “I really, really, really don’t want to get kicked out by you.”

Harry just stared at him, eyes wide with shock. “ _What?_ ”

Oh. The genuine surprise on Harry’s face suggested it had never even occurred to him that he should kick Peter out. Peter was moved, and embarrassed that he’d simply assumed the worst of Harry, but especially, he was confused.

“That’s not what you’re getting at?”

Harry gave him an unimpressed look, “I was going to say – if you hadn’t interrupted me like some dramatic _comic book_ vigilante – now that you’ve _finally_ got your self-reliance back, you should do everything you can to protect this self-reliance and _not get fired again_.”

The problem with Harry was, the guy _loved_ talking with emphases, which were mostly in place to blatantly, uncreatively insult Peter. Unsurprisingly, Peter hated those, so it was imperative for him to defend his own honor.

“Excuse me, _sir_ , don’t you think I already _know_ I shouldn’t get myself fired again?”

Harry smiled condescendingly, “Really.” He put down his fork and continued, “Did Jameson give you an assignment due tomorrow morning?”

Peter crossed his arms defensively. “Yeah. So?”

Mockery and frustration were plain on Harry’s face, “Yet here you sit, wasting your time away with idle chatter, as if you don’t have a deadline to make in less than thirteen hours.”

Harry always did love making dramatic speeches. Who was the dramatic one _now_?

…Did he just say Jameson’s assignment?

Oh. Oh no. Holy _crap_.

Peter leapt up from the chair. The pictures were due in the morning and he didn’t have anything!

Harry gave him his best _Why am I not surprised?_ look and said, “I suggest you hurry.”

-:-

As soon as Peter was outside and hit with the cold night air, his panicked mind calmed and he realized one thing: he got nothing to worry about. Come on, this was _New York_ , at _night_ , there was bound to be _thousands_ of criminals running around. He’d get heroic pictures of himself in no time.

He swung over an especially dark alley, checking for criminal activity. None.

He landed on a rooftop in a seedy area and looked around for criminal activity. None.

Peter shrugged and slung some webbing onto a higher rooftop to swing away.

Even though Harry should really work on being a nicer person, Peter was grateful for his reminder. Sure, one could argue Harry helped him keep his job only because he wanted to kick him out without betraying his conscience, but Peter knew better. He’d seen the look on Harry’s face when he suggested that Harry wanted to get rid of him – shocked and insulted, insulted that Peter thought he’d even entertain the idea at all. And _that_ , right there, put a fuzzy feeling in Peter’s stomach. Harry might be a grouch, but he did care.

So, Peter guessed he wasn’t being forcibly removed any time soon. He was more than relieved, because this had been a constant source of worry and stress for him since the day Harry took him in. To put it in a corny way, it was like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and he felt lighthearted indeed.

Peter swung through a cluster of apartment buildings, his eyes and ears strained for any sign of criminal activity. None.

Oookay, it was a _really_ good thing that Harry reminded him to do Jameson’s “homework” sooner rather than later. Finding villains to fight tonight was a lot harder than he’d thought. He would thank Harry later for that.

It was already past midnight and there was a distressing lack of criminal activity on this cold – freezing night. But Peter wasn’t too worried; if all failed, there was one place he could always count on, always rely on, always turn to for evildoers: Brooklyn.

He’d scanned the entire Brooklyn, and the criminal activity in the area was: None.

Seriously?! This was Brooklyn, _Brooklyn_ , for crying out loud! If criminals weren’t here, then WHERE? Where was everybody EVIL?! How come the ONE time Peter actually needed them, they just _refused to show up_? Wait, that actually made sense: they did this to him because they were _evil_.

…All right, this was getting ridiculous. He should calmly analyze the problem like a dignified scientist. What might give the criminals reasons to take the night off? It was Monday so it wasn’t weekend. It wasn’t any holiday, either. It wasn’t any day special _period_. So they couldn’t be off partying or celebrating somewhere. Unless…

Villains were so villainous that they didn’t even respect the age old practice of Working on Weekdays. Yes, it all made sense now. Though that still didn’t explain why they’d _all_ take the night off together, as in _at the same freaking time_.

Peter huffed in frustration, his breath a white puff in the ice cold air. He was about to swing away from his perch on the roof of a deserted building when the corner of his eye caught movement on the dark street below him.

An elderly little lady hobbled on hurriedly, eager to get out of the icy wind. A man, looking like a shady character, followed quietly behind. Peter felt adrenaline course through him. Finally! He swiftly secured the camera on a corner of the rooftop and swung down to rescue the old lady from the crimi –

The old lady turned around suddenly and saw the man behind her. She exclaimed in joy.

“Tony!” She opened her arms and the criminal-looking man promptly rushed into her tiny arms and hugged her tightly.

“I’ve missed you so much, Mom!”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were back?”

“I wanted this to be a surprise,”

“Oh, sweetheart…”

As the little old lady kissed the not-really-criminal-looking man on the cheek, Peter decided enough was enough.

Cold and tired, Peter swung back to the Osborn Mansion in record time. He came in through the guestroom windows and turned on the police radio as his last resort.

The radio had been quiet for a couple of minutes until a transmission finally came through. Peter turned on the volume with his heart in his mouth: “ _Still nothing so far. Looks like it’s gonna be one quiet night, guys._ ”

Peter wanted to bang his head on the wall. He sighed in defeat and decided to go downstairs for a comforting cup of warm milk.

To his surprise, Harry was still up. Well, not that he was surprised Harry was still up at 1:23 in the morning. He was surprised Harry was still up not because he was talking on the phone or brooding.

Harry was watching TV, sitting on the family room couch with a thick, _black_ (seriously?!) wool blanket tucked around him cozily. He looked up when Peter approached, still in his Spider-Man costume sans the mask.

Peter noticed Harry was in fact watching the news instead of old sitcoms. How Harry of him.

Harry studied Peter briefly before saying, “Critical mission failure?”

Peter sighed in defeat again, “Yeah.”

“Because there’s no villain around?”

When did Harry’s mind-reading ability become so powerful that it was _downright_ _disturbing_? “How – how did you know?!”

Harry nodded at the television. Below the shivering correspondent’s face was the title: **NEW YORK CITY** **TEMPERATURE DROPPED TO LOWEST IN 50 YEARS.**

No wonder Peter couldn’t feel his feet anymore. Or his hands, for that matter. And it was always good to know the Goblin serum hadn’t granted Harry mind-reading ability after all.

Wait a second.

“So _all_ the criminals in New York just _unanimously_ decided they’d stay home because _it’s cold outside_?” Peter was so pissed right now. What kind of criminals _were_ they? Intimidated by the weather, what a bunch of weakass losers.

“Coldest in fifty years, Pete.” said Harry.

Peter heaved a deep sigh; he was sorely disappointed by the lack of self-esteem of the criminals of New York. He plopped down beside Harry on the couch in frustration. “I can’t believe not even _one_ of them was self-respecting enough to brave the weather,”

Harry grunted in acknowledgement and turned off the television with the remote. Then he looked at Peter thoughtfully, “Aren’t you supposed to be more worried about, say, _losing your job_?”

Oh. Right. He was doomed. Peter sagged into the comfy (but chilly) leather couch and sighed. The Osborn Mansion Air Conditioning System – bless its soul – was doing a fine job of warming Peter’s numb limbs.

Harry looked down at where Peter’s body met the couch’s leather and narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Peter demanded self-consciously.

Harry looked back up, condescending but clearly annoyed, “Just wondering… Should I tell you to get the hell off my beloved couch since you’ve obviously brought half of New York’s filth back with you, or should I let you pathetically wallow in your misery for the time being and make you clean up later?”

Peter sighed. Overly protective of his dad’s stuff, yup, that was Harry Osborn. Taking the cue, Peter got the hell off Harry’s beloved couch and turned to inspect the “damage” he’d done to the couch.

Huh. Turned out he did bring half of New York’s filth back with him, if the large Spidey-shaped patch of grime was anything to go by.

Peter would clean it up. Harry didn’t need to be so mean about it. Seriously, sometimes –

Oh. Dear. God. He knew what he should do to save his job!

“Harry, I got an idea!” Peter enthusiastically informed Harry, who narrowed his eyes in caution. “I know what we should do!”

Harry scoffed, “ _We_? You’re on your own, pal.”

-:-

“I, am a moron.” Harry declared.

Peter, in full Spider-Man attire, looked at his sullen friend in amusement, “Aww, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“No, I’m serious.” said Harry sarcastically as he adjusted the helmet on his head, voice muffled since, once again, the only thing exposed were his eyes, “I mean, I let _you_ , a fellow moron, talk me into doing _this_.”

Peter ignored the snide comment in favor of admiring his own handiwork. Who’d have thought aluminum foil would look so authentic as a supervillain costume? And the aluminum foil helmet – pure genius. Peter was so smart that he wanted to marry his own brains.

See, Harry was so mean about every little thing that he was even meaner than actual supervillains sometimes. Which had given Peter an idea! Why not ask Harry to be the villain he so desperately needed for his assignment? It took some convincing – fine, begging and pleading – but Harry eventually agreed. Why wouldn’t he, though? Peter was so intelligent that no one, absolutely no one, could resist him.

“If you’re quite finished making out with yourself,” Harry said through gritted teeth, “this ‘armor’ you made is unbelievably uncomfortable.”

Well, couldn’t blame the guy for being in a bad mood. They were on top of a skyscraper in Manhattan on the coldest night in fifty years, and Harry was wrapped from head to toe in aluminum foil in the howling wind. And Peter was pretty sure the helmet’s air circulation wasn’t very good.

“Once again, I would like to thank you for doing –”

“Cut the bullshit,” Harry glared at Peter through the eye holes of the helmet, apparently pissed, “I’m already a human popsicle, so just GET IT OVER WITH!”

Wincing, Peter held up his hands placatingly, “It’ll be just a couple of minutes, I promise!” He couldn’t help but add, “But why are you already a human popsicle? You’re wearing _three_ sweaters.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, “You wanna try this armor on and find out?”

 _No_ . Peter thought without hesitation.

“I didn’t think so,” Harry said patronizingly in response to Peter’s awkward silence, “And where did you come up with this sorry excuse for a costume, anyway?”

What?! “Hey! Who’s the supervillain expert here?”

“I look like a chicken bake,” Harry stated flatly.

“That’s not true! You look like a world-class supervillain hell-bent on world domination!”

“With what? My omnipotent food-wrapping power?”

Peter sighed. Poor uninformed Harry would never get it until he saw the newspaper headline tomorrow. Till then, he supposed he could indulge the guy for a little while. “Yes, Harry, you’re absolutely right.”

“Good, because I am.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

He handed Harry a pair of orange ski goggles, “And this completes your costume.”

Harry put on the ski goggles clumsily with his aluminum foil-wrapped hands, “Awesome, now I look like a ski goggles-wearing chicken bake.”

Harry really made it very hard to indulge him.

Harry continued, “But at least they hide my eyes.”

“Your eyes?” Peter frowned.

“One normal, one blind. Wouldn’t take the press long to figure out who this chicken bake reminds them of.”

Still thinking about Oscorp. Gotta hand it to the guy for his commitment and devotion. Even though he did _not_ look like a chicken bake, jeez.

“So…” Peter felt himself pumped with adrenaline, “You ready?” He was _so_ ready to do this! It was gonna be so much fun –

“No,”

Right. Wasn’t it just like Harry to be a giant killjoy?

Harry, taking his sweet time, rummaged through his folded jacket on his Glider. Harry still refused to swing with Spider-Man due to something along the line of _I don’t trust your marvelous, trustworthy stealth skill so I’m gonna fly here on my very visible, very noticeable Glider instead_. Jesus Christ.

Peter reminded himself again not to blame Harry for intentionally making his life difficult. After all, to make sure no one would interrupt their very important operation, they had to stay here on top of a seventy-story building, which happened to be the place where the icy wind blew strongest. And since it was impossible to get Harry on top of the building without messing up the aluminum foil costume, they had to start wrapping the aluminum foil onto Harry _after_ they got to the skyscraper’s freezing rooftop. Peter was a perfectionist when it came to making costumes, so…yeah, it took more than just a few minutes to get the costume _just right_. No wonder the guy was so pissed right now.

Harry pulled a weird device out of his jacket’s inner pocket and took his ski-goggled helmet off. Puzzled, Peter watched as Harry, hands still wrapped in aluminum foil, awkwardly (and _slowly_ ) attached the small device to the inside of the helmet. Then he finally put the helmet back on.

Peter crossed his arms and sighed long-sufferingly, his excitement already diminished by Harry’s bizarre action. “Can we start _now_?”

Harry adjusted his helmet again before saying, “Yes.”

Except the voice that came out wasn’t Harry’s. It was _Darth Vader’s_.

Wide-eyed, Peter stared at his now loudly breathing aluminum foil-covered friend in disbelief, “You made a _Darth Vader_ voice filter?!”

“Got a problem with that?” asked “Vader” haughtily before he began breathing loudly again. This was really getting disturbing. First Charlie, now this. Harry needed to stop indulging himself so much in his _Star Wars_ obsession.

Peter rolled his eyes, too bad Harry couldn’t see it with the mask on, “Thank god Mr. Jameson doesn’t require audio files.”

Harry shrugged arrogantly.

All right, it was getting colder every minute; they should get the show on the road.

Peter straightened his back, getting back into work mode, “Okay, villain, do you have a name for yourself?”

Because it was Harry, it’d probably be Aluminum Man. Or Darth Foil. Or just Darth Vader since he loved him so much.

“You may call me…Teloo the Terrible.”

“…Really? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“You wanna do this or not?”

Peter huffed. ** _Fine_** _, suit yourself, Teloo the **Terrible**_. _Even the Bugle can do better than that._

The first picture they were going to take was Spider-Man back-flipping over the supervil – Teloo the Terrible’s head. Back-flip because it was flashy and simply Cool.

“Okay, Teloo the _Terrible_ , I’m gonna back-flip over your head, and you’re gonna look over your shoulder up at my amazing aerial move in shock and dismay, okay?”

Harry nodded.

“But it’s okay if you don’t feel shocked or dismayed because, you know, nobody can see your face anyway –”

“You’re _this_ close to losing your villain, _hero_.” Harry interrupted, giving off the grumpy vibe of _I’m cold as hell and you’re wasting ten seconds of my life with your penchant for stating the obvious._

Geez, talk about snarky. And the Vader voice and breathing were getting annoying.

Peter made sure the camera was ready before positioning himself in front of Harry, “Okay, on the count of three. One…two…three!”

Peter did a perfect back-flip over Harry’s head. Yet when he twisted around in the air for landing, he was hit with an extremely cold gust of wind and he momentarily lost his focus, which was why he ended up kneeing Harry in the right ear before taking him down to the ground with him.

Silence, except for Harry’s Darth Vader breathing noise.

A little disoriented, Peter sat up and realized he didn’t hurt too much, which could only mean he had a cushion when he fell… Oh boy. He looked down and found himself sitting on Harry’s side, who was completely still.

Peter scrambled to get off of his friend’s unmoving body. Still not moving.

Did he… _kill_ Harry?!

Whoa, wait – no. Harry was still breathing. Rather noisily.

Maybe he should take his helmet off?

Peter swallowed nervously, “You okay, buddy?”

Like a miracle, Harry, still on his side, raised a hand to tell him to shut up. Feeling contrite, Peter did what he was told.

After a few seconds, Harry sat up, “Okay, I’m not deaf in one ear.”

It was kind of funny, so Peter chuckled anxiously. Then Harry turned and looked at him, and Peter just knew it was a glare behind the goggles.

“…You’re serious?”

“Considering you just _kneed me in the ear_ – _yes,_ I’m _serious_.”

Peter swallowed again, “I’m really sorry, Harry. It was the wind! It caught me by surprise and I just… Are you okay?”

Harry just gave Peter his hand so Peter could help him up.

“Look,” Peter didn’t let go of Harry’s foil-wrapped hand until he was sure his friend could stand on his own. He really hoped he hadn’t given Harry a concussion. “If you don’t want to do this anymore and just want to go home instead, I totally understand and I know it’s all my fault –”

Harry cut him off, “Peter, stop being so melodramatic. Let’s just get this over with.”

Sometimes, out of nowhere, Harry would do something incredibly nice, so nice that Peter’s heart felt full and warm.

They checked the picture the camera had taken and, due to an insane amount of luck, the picture looked like Spider-Man was intentionally kneeing Teloo’s head in mid flip.

Though still feeling guilty about Harry’s right ear, Peter wanted to do a victory dance because, despite everything, the photo had turned out even better, even _cooler_ than he’d envisioned. But he was also afraid that Harry would punch him if he did do the dance.

The second picture would be Spider-Man punching Teloo the Terrible in the face. Actually, it was supposed to be Spidey kicking Teloo the Terrible in the guts, but given what happened during the first shot, Peter wasn’t brave enough to risk kicking Harry in the guts by accident. An enraged Harry could provoke one’s deepest fear and should be avoided at all costs.

“So I’m gonna punch your face – but not _your face_ – it’s gonna be, gonna be _fake_ punching, so I won’t _really_ punch you or anything.”

“Fake punch, got it, just like what they do in the movies.”

“Those fight scenes were fake?!” Peter didn’t know what to believe anymore!

Harry sighed obnoxiously, “Peter.”

“Right. Focus.”

God must hate him somehow. Or maybe God simply hated Harry. When he threw a punch in slow motion at Harry, he tripped over because of an unfortunate combination of sub-zero weather, numb legs and friction between cement and rubber-clad feet. The end result: he punched Harry for real.

Harry yelped and covered his left cheek in pain.

Peter did panic this time. “Harry, I’m so sorry! I really didn’t mean to! I just tripped!”

Harry carefully lowered his hands from his face and looked at Peter. Peter didn’t know whether it was a good thing or bad thing that Harry’s facial expression was not visible at the moment.

“If looks could kill,” Harry said, so very obviously pissed, “be glad I’m wearing goggles.”

Peter gulped. Good thing, then. It then occurred to him: he’d just punched Harry. He’d just punched _Harry._ Harry the mean, nasty, vicious, cruel, sadistic _asshole_. A victory – an utter triumph for the underdog hero!

And then he immediately remembered why he’d got to punch Harry in the first place. And he felt like a heel. For all those times he’d called himself Nice, he turned out to be an ungrateful asshole himself!

But then again, it was all Human Nature, so perhaps he shouldn’t be so hard on himself. After all, his mind was only working in retaliation against Harry’s prior mean-ness.

But after all Harry’d done for him, how could he still hold a grudge against the guy?

But Harry _had_ been an ass to him.

But Harry had been so _nice_ to him, too!

Peter felt like he might go insane any minute now, so he’d better just…drop the train of thought and go check the picture.

As expected, since the punch was actually real, the shot was flawless.

The third shot would be a defeated Teloo the Terrible lying flat on the ground with Spider-Man crouching on his chest, about to punch him.

After Peter described the shot to him, Harry’s only response was: “When can we let the bad guy punch the good guy for a change?”

Harry’s tone was so full of dark, ominous promise that Peter quickly said, “People need heroes, Harry! Not someone that got his ass kicked!”

Harry snorted, “What people need is to grow up and realize even heroes get _what they have coming_.” Yep, Harry was feeling vengeful again. God save Spidey!

At least this time Peter could stop in the middle before his fist even got near Harry’s face. There really wasn’t much chance for him to piss Harry off even more.

“ _Ow_ , watch your feet!” Harry snarled on the ground as Peter tried to find a relatively flat surface on his chest to crouch securely for the pose. Harry’s constant snarling in Vader’s voice really wasn’t helping. “Careful, watch it! Those are my ribs, you moron! What the – really, Peter? My _lungs_?”

Nope, not helping at all.

“Who gave you these ideas for the pictures, anyway? The _Idiot_ King of _Moron_ _ia_?”

Darth Vader would _never_ say that!

The fourth shot would be Spider-Man raising Teloo the Terrible over his head, ready to slam him into something.

With Peter’s spider strength it was easy to lift Harry over his head, but the tricky part was the balance. As he tried not to drop Harry (for that guaranteed certain doom), he realized that, in spite of all the accidents and pain and bruises, Harry was _still here_. Because he knew Peter needed him, because he’d always been there for Peter, no matter what.

Peter was so overwhelmed by affection and gratitude for his friend that he lost his balance. And dropped Harry. _Why, God? **Why?**_

It was said fear made men religious. Well, considering how many times Peter’d said “god” tonight, he had to say he agreed.

Peter, afraid and panicked once again, hurriedly helped Harry back to his feet.

Harry looked as if his back hurt and he grunted in pain when he tried to straighten his spine. He hissed in a voice that could only be categorized as Royally Pissed, “I swear, Spidey, when this is over, I’m gonna –”

“Last shot!” Peter interrupted lamely, hoping to distract his friend from his wrath. It actually worked.

The fifth and final shot would be Spider-Man swinging down from above straight towards the camera. Yes, there would be no _Star Wars_ -sounding villains, no accidental kneeing, punching or dropping, no angry best friends, just Spidey. Thank God.

Harry was relieved, too, if how fast he started sloppily peeling the aluminum foil off of himself was any indication.

This last one should be easy. Seriously, what could possibly go wrong?

Peter adjusted the camera so it was facing upwards while Harry got the last of the aluminum foil off.

Peter crawled up to a high point and swung down towards the camera, having done this a million times. He knew he would nail it. There was no doubt in his mind. Why wouldn’t he? He’d gotten so good at taking pictures of himself that he –

Low temperature made stuff brittle. Since this was the coldest night in fifty years, well, suffice to say his webbing had gotten brittle as well.

It broke.

Peter saw Harry’s astonished face before crashing straight into him.

Peter groaned as he tried to register where he was, his head reeling from the violent impact. Okay, he was…on his stomach. And that was definitely cement his hands were touching, but just to be on the safe side, he opened his eyes. Yup, what his face was squished against was cement.

Head still slightly spinning, he gingerly braced himself up and looked down. He was on top of Harry. _I’m DEAD._

Without the armor and helmet, Peter was graced with Harry’s strangely calm face.

“I’m having trouble deciding,” Harry spoke, voice as strangely calm as his face, “which way for you to die would be most painful.”

Harry had incredible eyes. It was hard not to notice when their faces were so close. Even with one of them blind, his eyes were still amazing. If Harry weren’t such a jerk, Peter would even call them pretty. Ah, screw it. Peter’d always been a sensible guy.

Harry had pretty eyes. There, he said it. In his head, at least. Peter knew he ought to scramble off of his homicidal friend as fast as possible, but all he could think about at the moment was how pretty Harry’s eyes were.

…Oh. So this was like one of those romantic moments in the movies! Where two people stared into each other’s eyes and things got all quiet and intense before they finally leaned forward and – oh hey! The accidents hadn’t left any bruise on Harry’s face! Good to know Harry wouldn’t be deciding on the most appropriate method for his demise –

“Right now, I’m stuck between drowning you in fluoroantimonic acid and skinning you alive so I can use your skin for toilet paper. What a delightful dilemma.”

Peter scrambled off of his homicidal friend as fast as possible. As he helped Harry up, he realized Harry couldn’t have seen through his Spidey mask, so the earlier awkward staring was actually one-sided. _Figures._

Needless to say, as with all the other pictures taken that night, the shot was perfect.

Only until they got home did Peter realize he’d just put Harry in a romantic context again. He must have hit his head harder than he thought if he began casting Harry as the Love Interest to his Superhero.

-:-

“What does this guy think he is? A chicken bake?” Jameson demanded after he looked at all five shots with Robbie.

Peter choked on his own saliva. _Am I the only one that gets what Badass means?!_

“What are we gonna call him?” Hoffman asked.

-:-

**NEW VILLAIN IN TOWN: TELOO THE TERRIBLE**

Peter had lost all hope for humanity.

He sighed as he gave the newspaper back to the nice pigeon so she could get back to building her new nest.

He wondered what Harry was doing right now… Actually, now was a good time to visit Harry again – it was early afternoon and his patrol had been uneventful.

Peter leapt off the Empire State Building and shot a strand of webbing at another skyscraper.

-:-

“Vince won’t be happy,”

Aaand of course Harry was in a meeting. Seriously, though… Vince who? Then Peter remembered it was none of his business.

“He’ll just have to deal with it.” Harry sounded tired but resolute.

“You know what he’s going to say, right? That for everything he’s done for this company, we can’t even take care of his own nephew.” Peter didn’t recognize the other voice.

“Well, Ted, you can tell him: since the day we gave him a job, Jack has been nothing but a useless, lazy pain in the ass that plays _World of Warcraft_ using company resources.”

_So that’s his name. Ted. Huh. Wonder what he does –_

_You’re invading Oscorp’s privacy. That’s illegal and rude, dumbass!_

But it was so dull out here on the windows by himself. And it wasn’t like he could just shut down his enhanced hearing.

Ted sounded anxious, “What if Vince quit?”

Harry sighed wearily, “He might. He’s probably too sensitive to see we fired Jack only because of _Jack_ , and not because we don’t respect _him_.” Harry paused briefly before continuing, “Ted, I doubt it. Vince needs the job. He doesn’t love his nephew enough to quit his entire career for him. As for the imaginary lack of respect from us… He’ll get over it, especially now that he’s finally understood the Company _can_ survive without him.”

The sound of Ted standing up. “I’ll tell Jack to pack his desk right away.”

“Good luck,” Harry said grimly.

Peter made sure he heard Ted leave the room and close the door before climbing down into view. Harry was already there at the windows, as usual.

“Hey, buddy!” Peter greeted brightly. He realized he was actually happy to see Harry the Grouch. He must have hit his head really, really hard.

Harry didn’t seem happy to see _him_ , though. In fact, he looked annoyed. He asked slowly and deliberately, “What the hell are you doing _here_?”

“Just…saying hi?” _Come on, Harry, get with the program._

Harry looked at the ceiling as he muttered: “Jesus Christ.” As if Peter was a lunatic to come see him.

There was no doubt: Harry needed anger management. Unperturbed, Peter ignored him, “So, last night was fun. Well, technically, it was this morning, but you know what I mean.”

Harry scoffed and gave him a hard stare, “You wanna talk about this _now_?”

Peter rolled his eyes. Drama queen. What was his problem, anyway? “I know I’ve said it already, but I mean it: Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Harry nodded. “You done?”

Peter had just poured his heart out and all Harry cared about was shutting him up. What kind of person did that? _Well, guess what, buddy? THIS bug will NOT shut up!_ “How did your little talk with Bob, Roger and that, that other guy go?” asked Peter pointedly.

As planned, that did get to Harry, who sighed in…disbelief? And despair? What the hell was his problem?!

Peter pressed on, “I bet they were sad you cut their lunch break short.”

It was supposed to make Harry feel bad, to piss him off, but Harry only smiled patronizingly, “When you have a six-figure salary, Pete, you’ve got more important things to worry about than your lunch break.”

Now Harry sounded like that bad guy from _Wall Street_. What was his name again? Gordon Geico? Wait, that couldn’t be right. That was the insurance company. Gordon…Gordon Gecko…Gordon _Gekko_! Yes, that was the name! Anyway, even though he’d never seen the movie itself, he was pretty sure Gordon Gekko was a corporate jerk like Harry Osborn.

But he’d also never had a six-figure salary in his life, so perhaps that was why he couldn’t understand these people.

But it was _lunch break_ –

“Not that I even want to know what’s going on in your mutated brains right now,” Harry’s irritated tone snapped him out of his reverie.

_Mutated? At least **I** didn’t ask for it. You, my friend, on the other hand, are one sick bastard._

“But aren’t you supposed to meet M.J. in six minutes?”

…Holy _crap_!

Harry did not look surprised as he regarded Peter’s sudden horror-stricken stillness, “Honestly, Peter, even _I_ remember – and I knew about this only because you wouldn’t shut up about it.”

It was decided: Peter was a forgetful, absent-minded, irresponsible _idiot_. First he forgot about Jameson’s assignment, now he forgot about his friend-date with Mary Jane, the love of his life, his _soulmate_ –

“Peter,”

Peter paused his near-panic attack to look at Harry.

Harry’s face and voice were both laden with frustration, “ _Get going._ ”

-:-

The first time Peter saw Mary Jane, he thought she was an angel. And that was still how Peter felt as he looked at her right now. Ever since she started dating this new guy, she’d been so happy and content that she was more beautiful than she had ever been.

If only Peter could have been the one to make her so happy. Peter tried not to feel sorry for himself. This guy was perfect for M.J.; he was the prince charming that M.J. deserved. Okay, he was definitely feeling sorry for himself.

“And Derek said ‘Villain, I have done thy mother!’” Mary Jane giggled in that lovely way that always melted Peter’s heart. Peter wanted to die.

This was such a bad idea. When M.J. called him and asked if he wanted to catch up, he thought it was a brilliant idea; seeing Mary Jane had always been a joy in itself. Now it was sheer torture.

Well, not _that_ painful, but painful in a way that made you depressed and sad.

He wished Harry were here. Harry was so pissed all the time that you were simply glad and thankful you weren’t him.

And Peter wouldn’t have felt so miserable and alone when Mary Jane was engrossed in her own happily-ever-after. He would have felt so much better with his best friend by his side, and he’d never feel alone in Harry’s presence. Nervous, jumpy, sometimes even scared, but never alone. And it was thanks to Harry that he got here just on time. _Always looking out for me, that’s Harry._

“But enough about me.” Mary Jane smiled cheerfully, her beautiful eyes sparkling, “What have you been up to?”

For a moment, Peter considered not telling her the whole truth just for the sake of his pride and dignity. But then again, why not? M.J. was never judgmental, and it wasn’t like she would ever take him back. She had been perfectly honest with him and the least he could do was return the favor.

“Wait, so…” Mary Jane tried to contain her amused giggles, “The guy on today’s front page was _Harry_?”

Peter couldn’t help but smile himself. The whole thing _was_ kind of funny. That, and Mary Jane’s cheerfulness had begun to rub off on him. Maybe meeting up with her wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “He wasn’t happy about it, that’s for sure. But he was willing to help a friend in need.”

Harry was someone they both knew, so naturally he became their topic of the day. Peter was just done recounting the Shocker Incident when he noticed the strange way Mary Jane was looking at him.

“Is there…something on my face?” he asked self-consciously.

Mary Jane said with a knowing yet gorgeous smile, “You should see the look on your face when you talk about him,”

Peter frowned, confused, “Who Harry?”

“Mm-hmm.” M.J.’s smile brightened, like the most beautiful sun ever existed in the physical world, “The look of love.”

Peter choked on his soda, “M.J., that’s not funny!”

“Oh, Peter, it’s so cute!” Even when Mary Jane wasn’t making any sense she was dazzling.

Mary Jane had watched too many romantic comedies. That was the only possible explanation. Peter placed his soda on the table just in case she said something equally disturbing again; one could never tell with girls.

“Is this because you’re subconsciously guilty about breaking up with me so your subconscious just paired me up with the first person I mentioned? Because that happens, you know, that happens all the time. The human mind is a dark and complex place and we humans are only just beginning to –”

M.J. gently put her delicate hand on his, effectively silencing him. “Peter, you can’t stop talking about him.”

Peter groaned in frustration. Girls. It wasn’t Mary Jane’s fault that she was born without the Y chromosome, but she did lack the intellect to distinguish between fantasy and fact because of that. Not that he would ever wish her to change, because Mary Jane Watson was perfection itself. “I’m not talking about him _now_. See? I _can_ stop talking about him. I talked about him earlier because you _asked_.”

Mary Jane, unfazed and still blindly confident in her ridiculous assessment, raised her glass of lemonade at him happily. “The heart wants what the heart wants.” She stated in an angelic, melodious sing-song voice and sipped her lemonade gracefully. Drinking lemonade had never seemed more elegant and refined.

The Fates were cruel – Mary Jane _was_ his soulmate. Why else would she seem just so absolutely perfect to him all the time?

“Oh, that reminds me! There was this one time, me and Derek went to this _romantic_ resort and…” Except when she talked about _Derek_. Hadn’t she gotten sick of talking about her boyfriend yet? She’d already talked about him for two hours. Two. Goddamn. _Hours_.

Peter really wished Harry were here.

As it turned out, seeing M.J. again _was_ a joy in itself, especially because she was his soulmate, his one true love, the one that completed him. Her happiness had been contagious and made Peter that much more lighthearted and optimistic. Excluding the excruciating, agonizing, _heartbreaking_ three hours and thirty-two minutes of _Planet Derek_ , the friend-date would’ve been perfect – all twenty-eight minutes of it – if Mary Jane hadn’t deluded herself into believing Peter had _fallen in love with Harry_.

Romantic comedies were truly the bane of modern society.

Now that he thought about it, though: _Was_ he in love with Harry the Good, the Bad and the Grouchy…?

Nah.

Wait.

_Nah._

He promptly tossed M.J.’s adorably misled idea to the back of his mind and, still in a good mood, returned to the Osborn Mansion with a spring in his step since he knew Harry would be back soon.

-:-

To be continued...


	6. In Which There Is a Gala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy St. Patrick's Day, dear readers!

“How was your day?”

Peter quickly swallowed his mouthful of roast beef and grinned at his friend across the dining table. Harry had just asked him about his day. A _normal_ conversation. Christmas miracles were –

“Not that I care either way, but you keep giving me this pathetic Look.”

Peter sighed long-sufferingly and, not feeling like backing down for once, fought back instantly. He asked in the most mocking and snarkiest voice he could muster (which wasn’t really that mocking or snarky), “What pathetic _Look_?”

Harry put down his knife and fork and looked at Peter calmly, “The Look that screams ‘I’ve had a shitty day! Ask me about my day! _Ask me about my goddamn day!_ ’”

Once again Harry’s impression of Peter was just sad. You’d think someone as smart as Oscorp’s CEO would know Peter Parker would never sound so whiny.

“Harry,” Peter said condescendingly. See? Harry Osborn wasn’t the only one that could do condescending. “I don’t sound like that. And I don’t even know how to put so many words in one single Look. That, my friend, is _your_ specialty.” Yup, totally condescending. This was not the first time Peter wondered if Harry’s nastiness was the result of extremely early male menopause. Because that would explain a _lot_.

Harry didn’t look impressed. “So you _don’t_ want me to ask you about your day,”

“No!” He did want Harry to! He just wanted to first prove the nonexistence of the Look Harry was on about.

“ _No_ as in you don’t?”

“NO!”

It was as if a floodgate had been opened. Peter immediately launched into a long-winded rant about Mary Jane and Derek and why Derek totally wasn’t that great and why M.J. was way too good for him. At some point during the rant, he’d dropped his fork and started illustrating his many points with hand gestures. Afterwards when he reflected on the whole incident, he would feel ashamed for badmouthing a guy he’d never even met, and he especially wouldn’t be proud of the whining. Yeah, that was what this rant was, essentially: one long whine from a freshly dumped loser.

Harry listened patiently, attentively even, and didn’t look like he was judging him.

To be honest, Peter had been in a sort of sour mood ever since Mary Jane started talking about Derek this and Derek that and oh, you _have_ to meet Derek, you’ll _love_ him. So Peter might have _hoped_ (there was no _Look_ involved, jeez) Harry would ask him about his day, just so he could complain and bitch about how unfair it all was and get this whole unpleasant afternoon out of his head.

Peter’s sour mood wasn’t so sour that he was bothered _too much_ by it. Hanging out with M.J. was like…drinking lemonade. It was sweet and sour at the same time. And he couldn’t believe he just made that comparison. It was all Derek’s fault; if he hadn’t been so perfect, M.J. wouldn’t have talked about him and sipped lemonade at the same time, and Peter wouldn’t have thought like a _girl_. Totally Derek’s fault. Jerk.

But the _point_ was, Peter was once again caught in the lemona – _conflicting_ emotions caused by hanging out with M.J. And the sheer amount of _happiness_ made him think the _unhappiness_ wasn’t so bad.

Peter didn’t realize just how badly he’d needed to talk about the shitty afternoon (yeah, he said it, because it _was_ shitty) until Harry basically made him start talking. With nonsense about a Look. Such nonsense.

After half an hour of passionate ranting, Peter finally got it all out of his system. Memo to self: No more friend-dates with Mary Jane. _Ever._

Unless she called him, which was another matter entirely, and that did _not_ make him a smitten idiot.

Finally done with his rant, Peter stopped, slightly out of breath. That felt good; that felt really good. If he’d known complaining to Harry about his love life (or lack thereof) was so therapeutic, he’d have done that a long time ago.

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment before asking, “Is that Derek guy an actor?”

Peter nodded bitterly, “And a good-looking one.”

Harry sniffed, “Douchebag.”

Peter straightened in his seat in a sudden bout of enthusiasm and energy. “I know, right?!”

“And he doesn’t even have the decency to make honest money like the rest of us. While _we’re_ working our asses off, he’s off trying to scam us with his pretty faceand random Shakespeare bullshit.”

“Exactly!”

They weren’t being exactly fair to the fair thespians, but Peter didn’t care about that right now. Bitching was good, bitching with _company_ was _glorious_. And he realized Harry had just as much cause to find Derek annoying; they were both Mary Jane’s ex-boyfriends, which made them…kindred spirits. Which was distinctly awesome. Even though Peter was kind of, fine, _completely_ responsible for Harry’s “ex” part (something he wasn’t proud of, mind you). Anyway, since Harry seemed to have put this behind them and even reminded Peter of his friend-date, Peter was going to venture a guess that Harry was no longer romantically interested in M.J.

Wait. They were bitching about M.J.’s current boyfriend…

“I can’t wait to see how _Derek_ is going to survive in the harsh, cruel world when he no longer looks the part of prince charming…” Harry trailed off when he noticed Peter looking at him anxiously. “What?”

Peter swallowed, “Are you…still in love with her?”

Harry made a face at the words “in love” as if the idea of him being in love with anyone was utterly distasteful. “ _Who?_ ” He demanded clarification in the most obnoxious way possible. Early male menopause must have struck. Poor guy.

“M.J.!” How could Harry not know? There was only one girl in the world worthy of this discussion!

Harry actually gaped at him, in a rare, completely open display of non-negative emotion. Not that he never gaped before (he’d gaped plenty in high school and college, and middle school, especially middle school), but these days all Peter ever got out of him were irritated grunts, impatient sniffs, disdainful scoffs, condescending sneers, the usual. Though this gape was categorized as “display of neutral emotion” at best (shock was neutral, right?) and not nearly as nice as those cherished instances where Harry openly displayed _positive_ emotions, Peter would take every non-negative emotional display he could get.

Peter was beginning to realize that Harry was always caught off-guard, almost vulnerable, when discussions of his _feelings_ arose. Huh. He supposed as much as being Oscorp’s CEO had hardened Harry with regards to almost all kinds of professional emotions, it didn’t give him any practice with matters of a personal nature.

Peter was…relieved. Because Harry hadn’t become a corporate jerk like Gordon Gekko after all. Because he was still the Harry Osborn Peter grew up with, the Harry Osborn who was awkward with personal feelings, romantic or otherwise, the Harry Osborn who always had trouble picking presents for his dad because he couldn’t decide on the one specific feeling he wanted to express, the same Harry Osborn who didn’t understand Jane Austen’s works but could recite her bibliography backwards because he _wanted_ to understand.

Maybe it was the delicious roast beef, or maybe he was just mellow after recalling adorable childhood memories of his best friend – whatever the reason, affection and fondness for Harry bloomed in Peter’s chest and warmed his stomach – okay, _that_ was definitely the roast beef.

“Peter!” Harry’s snarky voice snapped.

Peter caught himself. He’d been smiling at Harry like a besotted idiot looking at his old dog and remembering the good old days. Harry probably wouldn’t appreciate the analogy, however touching it was.

“What?”

Harry sighed impatiently, “You asked me if I was still in love with _M.J._ , then suddenly you started staring at me like an idiot looking at his old dog and remembering their treasure-hunting days.”

It was so amazing that it was downright _insane_. Peter laughed. He couldn’t have stopped himself if he’d tried. How did Harry _do_ that? It wasn’t even like mind-reading anymore, it was like…they had some sort of mental connection or something. The thought only made Peter laugh harder.

Harry regarded him in a very unflattering way: annoyed, exasperated, but resigned. He began with his customary narrowed eyes, “Since you’re determined to be a complete waste of my time this evening, I’m gonna –”

Peter shut up immediately. “No, wait, you haven’t told me if you’re still in love with M.J.!”

Harry looked at him skeptically. “Does that even matter?”

“ _Yes,_ ”

“You _do_ realize she’s not breaking up with Romeo anytime soon, right?”

“Well, _duh_ ,”

“Even if she did, _I_ don’t have time to be a love-sick moron like you, so if you’re worried about competition or something equally stu –”

Peter groaned. “Come on, Harry! I told you _my_ feelings all the time!”

“Unfortunately,”

“And I helped you pick out birthday and Christmas gifts for your dad every year!”

That got Harry’s attention instantly, and he softened, marginally, soon after. Looked like recalling their childhood memories together made Harry mellow, too. Peter wanted to hug him. He really was still the Harry he knew, who cared about ordinary stuff like that as if the ordinary was actually extraordinary, who always remembered and treasured the good memories (and the bad ones, obviously).

Harry eventually sighed, muttered an irritated “Jesus Christ”, and said, “No, I was never in love with her to begin with.”

Peter was relieved, beyond relieved. So Harry probably wasn’t pissed at him for “stealing M.J.” anymore. Then his relief turned into outrage. “But you dated her!”

Harry drawled, “ _That_ was payback for stealing my dad,”

This conversation was definitely going in a direction that was not ideal. Why the heck did everything have to be about Norman “Green Goblin” Osborn?! The good thing was, Harry no longer looked accusing and resentful when they talked about his dad, and Peter’s classical condition of shouting “I didn’t kill your father!” had finally subsided.

_Focus on M.J., Parker._ This was about defending her honor.

Peter continued, “So you asked an innocent, angelic girl out, and led her to believe you actually had feelings for her, just to _get back at me_?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, infuriatingly not defensive about it at all, “That wasn’t one of my proudest moments, but M.J. was no saint or victim, either. And if memory serves, you rescued the damsel from my evil clutches quickly enough. Or did she rescue herself and jump into your waiting arms instead? She always does have a tendency to throw herself at attractive people.”

Peter was outraged and filled with righteous fury. “How could you talk about Mary Jane like that?! She’s an angel!”

“So angels always find new boyfriends _before_ dumping the old ones?”

Peter’s brains stuttered. …Huh. Well, when he put it _that_ way…

Then his brains stuttered again. “Did you just call me attractive?”

“ _No_ ,” Harry answered a little too quickly, “I was referring to Derek. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Oh ho, he did. He totally did. _Wow._ This evening just kept getting better. He knew Mary Jane and Gwen dated him for his charming sensitivity, keen intellect and Nobel-worthy wisdom, and Aunt May’s decree that he was the handsomest young man alive was due to maternal bias, but _actually_ getting called “attractive” was, just – _Focus, Parker, **focus**._

“But you said you still loved her when you wanted to lure me to your evil lair and kill me!”

“Exactly, _genius_ , I was trying to murder you.” Harry looked immensely relieved at the change of subject, and Peter wanted to kick himself; apparently he could’ve gotten more out of the guy if he kept pushing. Missed opportunity. Crap. But at least Peter’s theory was proven: Harry _was_ vulnerable when you talked about his _feelings_ ; he had never let slip so much in one single conversation before. It was like Harry’s Achilles heel. Peter dutifully stored that piece of information in a safe place in his mind.

“Just so we’re clear, you’re not in love with M.J., you’ve never been in love with M.J., and you won’t ever be in love with M.J.?”

Harry’s patience was apparently wearing thin again, “ _Precisely._ ” Then just to be difficult, as usual, he asked in return, “Are _you_ still in love with M.J.?”

Peter answered without missing a beat, “Of course I am! She’s my soulmate!”

Harry snorted and commented patronizingly: “Typical,”

Peter knew he should feel sorry for someone with early male menopause, but Harry Osborn really got on his nerves. He replayed what they’d just said in his head and decided he should give the question its due consideration. Because, really, it was about Mary Jane, his soulmate, his one true love, the girl of his dream, the love of his life, the one that completed his soul.

Judging from his prior bitter (and whiny) rant, Peter would say it was pretty obvious he was still hopelessly in love with Mary Jane. But then he thought about it, _really_ thought about it, and realized he had no idea. Time for a thought experiment. Well, Bohr and Einstein did those all the time, so it couldn’t be that hard, right? Right.

“Hold on, you know what? I’m gonna do a thought experiment first.” Peter helpfully informed Harry, who had gone back to stuffing his face with roast beef.

To show his support for such an important, soul-searching moment for Peter, Harry gave him an unimpressed look and said, “If Schrödinger and Maxwell knew you were conducting a thought experiment on a question like _Am I still in love with Mary Jane?_ , they’d set their Cat and Demon on you.”

Peter’s brains stuttered again. Did he just reference Schrödinger’s Cat and Maxwell’s Demon? Yes, he did. Yes, he _did_.

“Harry, you’re such a _nerd_.” Peter couldn’t control his snickering. This was _awesome_. Who’d have thought Harry was just as big a nerd as he was? Granted, he was a _Star Wars_ nerd, but now he was also in the cool, the awesome Science Nerd category like Peter. Calling someone a nerd for a change rather than being called one yourself was very refreshing.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “You’re the one doing a _thought experiment_.”

“Yeah, but you’re not supposed to understand what I’m talking about,” Peter kept on snickering, “But you not only did but also made a reference to famous thought experiments!”

Harry just looked at him, calmly, patronizingly, unflattering and judgmental thoughts probably going through his judgmental mind right now. Then Peter choked on his roast beef because Harry leaned forward and said: “Remember how Bohr crushedEinstein with Einstein’s very own Box?”

It was Peter’s turn to gape. Harry leaned back and said primly, “I made Charlie and everything I used to kill you; you think _I_ would be bothered by being a _nerd_? Nerd equals smart, buddy.” He then smugly resumed consuming roast beef.

Peter wanted to hug him. He really, really wanted to. He’d been trying to tell people that for ages, but no one even let him finish. Harry just uttered it as if it was the universal truth. Kindred spirits. Brothers-in-arms. Smart brethren. It was unthinkable to think he’d ever find someone besides his classmates and professors to talk science with, but here they were. Sure, he couldn’t exactly discuss his quantum mechanics problem set with Harry, but at least Harry was a semi-scientist. He wouldn’t make fun of Peter for being smart, he respected Peter for doing science stuff, he understood all the science references, and in a perfect world he might even laugh at Peter’s science jokes.

“I swear, Peter, if you stare at me like your favorite old treasure-hunting dog for one more second, I’m gonna –”

“Thought experiment!” Caught red-handed, Peter quickly interrupted him sharply, channeling Dr. Connors’ stern something-important-going-on-here-so-be-quiet-or-suffer-the-consequence glare.

Harry respected science enough to shut up immediately as soon as he was informed a thought experiment was in progress. Good person. This also meant Peter had better finish the thought experiment soon. Where was he again? Mary Jane. Right.

Scenario: If Mary Jane broke up with pretty boy Derek and asked, no, _begged_ Peter to take her back, would Peter say yes?

Result: Yes! Definitely yes! A thousand times yes! …Actually…no. It was blasphemy, but seriously, he probably wouldn’t get back with her even if she asked. Not because Mary Jane wasn’t perfect and amazing and beautiful and kind and sweet, but because, well, he wouldn’t be able to look at her without seeing her so much happier face when she was dating _Derek_. He’d always be reminded of how much better Derek was compared to him, how much _happier_ Derek could make her than he ever could. And to be honest, dating M.J. was kind of exhausting. Just a _little_ , but it still was. And frankly, finally living a life that Mary Jane wasn’t really a part of helped him realize one thing: Mary Jane and him were better off as friends.

Yeah, his mind was weeping – the hope and dream of a lifetime, _gone_ – but his heart was telling him however sad it was, it was the truth. This relative distance from Mary Jane had been enlightening: spending less time with Mary Jane meant he had spent more time with his classmates and Harry. It’d given him a chance to see just how much he appreciated the company of people that took what he said seriously when he spoke science. People might say “come on, dude, it’s just science”, but science was never _just_ _science_ to him. Science was what he loved, what he was willing to spend his whole life pursuing. Science to him was like acting to Mary Jane! But it was okay for Mary Jane to gush about acting and theater. If he gushed about science? He was a nerd.

It had gotten frustrating. Mary Jane _was_ an angel despite what Harry said, but they weren’t really suited for each other. Being friends with M.J. allowed him the luxury of enjoying her sunlit presence and friendship and spared him the frustration that came with dating someone who didn’t really understand what you were passionate about. Not that he blamed her. She never meant to belittle science; she just assumed science was only for nerds, the uncool people.

Being _in love_ shouldn’t be like this, it shouldn’t make him feel so frustrated and powerless. So…no, he wasn’t in love with Mary Jane anymore.

And that concluded the thought experiment. It stopped being a thought experiment after the initial eighteen seconds, but at least Peter found the answer he was looking for. Schrödinger would’ve been proud. Or set his Cat on him.

He found Harry still eating roast beef, so that couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes. Felt like a lifetime, though.

“Harry,” Peter called.

Harry looked up at him, swallowed what he’d been chewing, and said passively, “You done?”

Peter took a shuddering breath and said, “I’m not in love with M.J. anymore.”

It was painful to say, but it was also a relief. He felt – liberated. Free. At last.

Which was a _really_ good thing now that he thought about it, because Mary Jane was decidedly highly unlikely to ever break up with her precious Derek, so this thought experiment discovery actually saved him further heartbreak.

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, “Isn’t she your _soulmate_?”

“Harry,” Peter sighed patronizingly. _Ha, right back at ya, Sir Patronize-a-lot. Wait, that doesn’t sound right. Should’ve used some word with only one syllable._ “Soulmates are made in _pairs_. If Mary Jane’s soulmate isn’t me, then how could _my_ soulmate be _her_?”

“You know,” Harry regarded him thoughtfully, “for someone who actually takes this soulmate thing seriously, you’ve changed your mind surprisingly fast. I mean, it’s been only _one_ thought experiment and already you’re denouncing your original soulmate.”

“Hey, thought experiments are very conclusive,”

“So she isn’t your soulmate?”

“No,”

“Or your one true love, the girl of your dream, the love of your life, the one that completes you?”

“Nope,”

Harry suddenly glared at him, “Then why the _hell_ did you ask me if I still goddamn love M.J.?!”

Peter raised his eyebrows in surprise, “What, that? I wasn’t even thinking about competition.”

Harry’s frown deepened thunderously, “Then _why_ were you hounding me about that?”

Peter knew what was going on now. Harry, biased ol’ Harry, thought this was all about Mary Jane. …Which wasn’t that unreasonable an assumption considering Peter’s recent preoccupation.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Peter shook his head in amusement, “I was just making sure you weren’t still pissed at me for the, uh, stealing M.J. part.” Voicing it out loud restored some anxiety back in Peter. One should never forget Harry Osborn was perfectly capable of killing decent people.

Harry stared at him, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Peter would even go so far as to say Harry was feeling _flattered_. And he very well should, because that whole long conversation was actually all about grouchy him instead of angelic, fair Mary Jane.

Harry eventually snapped out of the staring and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yes well, for the record, I’m not pissed at you for stealing M.J. anymore.”

“Good to know,” Peter grinned, feeling for the first time that he wasn’t the weaker party in a conversation with Harry. He could totally get behind this.

Harry narrowed his eyes at Peter’s pleased look, but before he could say something to ruin the moment, his cell phone rang. Peter chanced a jokingly smug smile at this interruption, but Harry just scowled at him, gave him a glare that said _don’t push your luck_ , and answered the phone.

As Harry talked to Joe, Peter observed Harry’s demeanor. He looked tense as usual, but he also looked kind of different. It took Peter a minute to realize the difference was the subtle relief that always came with having discussed your _feelings_ with someone. Harry was aware of this difference _and_ supremely uncomfortable with it. Peter hid a genuinely smug smile as he put more roast beef into his mouth and started chewing again. Harry might be an evil business overlord, but Discussing Feelings was _his_ domain. _Welcome to my turf, pal._

Harry sighed his patented _I am annoyed_ sigh to the cell phone, “Fine, let those MBAs talk. 3 P.M. They have half an hour.”

Harry then ended the call and gave Peter another warning glare. Peter just shrugged – even he knew not to poke a grumpy bear too much – and commented instead, “You talk like Gordon Gekko,”

Harry, finally safely back in his domain (because Peter was nice), arched an eyebrow sarcastically, “Do you even know who Gordon Gekko is?”

“Who doesn’t? He’s the king father of you corporate jerks.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Gordon Gekko is an investment banker that did insider trading, genius. He’s the kind of guy corporate jerks like me _avoid_ .”

Peter was in too good a mood to argue, so he simply shrugged again.

-:-

Another uneventful afternoon patrol. Peter knew he should be grateful because the pressure of finals was getting to him without criminals making things even more difficult, but he couldn’t help but feel this peace was the famous calm before the storm.

Speaking of finals, he was damn proud he could now think of them without wanting to scream in panic. Because, honestly, _FINALS WERE NEXT WEEK!_ …Er, right, so he should probably keep working on his inner calm regarding finals.

But he really had a feeling that shit was about to hit the fan for him. He was behind on almost _all_ the readings, his homework and lab reports were all B’s and C’s, _and_ he still wasn’t done with his Quantum Mechanics paper. And now, and _now_ finals were upon him and he seriously didn’t have time to study for them properly! Did he mention they counted for 60% of his grades?

The image of his brilliant classmates’ confident, smiling faces and “I’m so pumped for next week!” only served to make him even more depressed. Peter sighed. He would lose his scholarship if he didn’t at least score 90% on _all_ the finals. He was doomed.

But now was not the time to wallow in despair and self-pity. He needed to cheer up so he could focus and get started on the study marathon he’d just planned out in his efficient head. And what better way to cheer himself up than to visit his best friend?

As Peter landed on a ledge above the windows of Harry’s office, he heard voices on the other side of the glass. Unfamiliar, nervous voices. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him, so he peeked into the office covertly.

Four men in their twenties in (probably) expensive suits stood in front of the long conference table (where Harry and his guys were seated) with a projector screen displaying some flashy slides behind them. Peter had to admit the technology in Harry’s office was top-notch; the projectors at Columbia always had this depressing yellow hue about their images while this projector right here was so magnificent that Peter could watch IMAX 3D movies with it. The colors were so crisp and sharp and – okay, he needed to focus here.

The four guys were doing a presentation of some sort, talking about confusing stuff like “discounted present values” and “inventory buildup diagrams”. Peter didn’t understand any of it. He was about to return to the ledge to wait the meeting out when Phil suddenly interrupted the presentation.

“So what, exactly, do you recommend us do?”

“ _Well,_ ” one of the four guys said, with an air of anxious confidence but genuine pomposity. “Because we’ve already provided you with our analysis and possible solutions to the problem, we think the decision of which one to use is yours to make.”

Phil frowned. “You’re here to give an actual recommendation, not _options_. That’s not what we pay you for.”

“And those numbers you use,” Bob (or was it John?) didn’t even bother concealing his doubt, “What are the calculations? Are you _sure_ your model is sound?”

Another one of the four young guys quickly changed the displayed slide to one with tiny graphs and spreadsheet tables all squeezed in together. “As you can see, we’ve done the calculations, we’ve run all the regression tests, everything’s correct. So don’t worry about it, we know what we’re doing.”

Bob looked like he was trying very hard not to snort, “Of course you do. But if you don’t bother explaining your reasoning, why should I bother listening to _you_ at all?”

The four young guys looked shocked, insulted, and even more insulted. Before they could get defensive, an Oscorp guy Peter had never seen before joined the fray, “You said the market is growing, but according to –”

One of the young guys interrupted him, “I know what you’re gonna say, Mr. Valkanov, but based on the –”

Then Harry interrupted him in kind, “Don’t presume to know what Roger’s going to say.” He said passively, “You guys might be from Harvard, but he’s been doing this longer than you’ve been alive. Besides,” he paused for dramatic effect (Peter stood correct: Harry was a drama king), “We are your _clients_. _We_ pay _you_.” Then he narrowed his eyes in the way he always did before delivering a death sentence. “Or _were_ going to, anyway.”

The young guys paled.

Harry changed his tone to the This-Is-Final tone he loved so much. Peter had been on the receiving end of _that_ one frequently enough to start feeling sorry for the young guys. “Your credentials are impressive, and we don’t doubt your capabilities. We have every confidence you’d do Harvard proud after you graduate, but I’m afraid, right now, the skills you offer don’t align with our needs.”

One of the young guys opened his mouth to speak but another one stopped him and shook his head, dejected. Peter felt so sorry for them that he couldn’t watch any longer. Even though he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, the whole thing was too reminiscent of his countless rejections during job search.

He heard the young guys collecting their things and thanking the Oscorp guys for their time before leaving the room. Peter sighed. He didn’t like those Harvard guys, oh no ( _Columbia rules!_ ) but the Oscorp people might have been too harsh.

Then Peter remembered Harry talking on the phone last night about MBAs and talking and 3 P.M. So _those_ were the MBAs. Harvard MBAs. Peter felt even more sorry for them because they were his fellow Masters students. But Columbia was still better than Harvard, obviously.

Peter heard the Oscorp people start standing up and collecting their stuff as well.

“ _Harvard_ MBAs…never trusted ’em.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t get into HBS yourself.”

“Hey, I’m from _Stanford_ , asshole, unlike you Tuckies.”

“Are you guys seriously comparing _degrees_ now? What are you, twenty?”

“This is not a healthy conversation,”

“No, no, we should’ve known having these Harvard MBAs here would remind _these_ guys of their _painful memories_.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean? You guys don’t even _have_ MBAs.”

“Exactly, we don’t need some fake degree to earn our keep.”

“How dare you? MBA’s a _real_ degree.”

“What was that crap about Tuck?! You insulting my _alma mater_?”

“How can your _alma mater_ not suck when it calls itself _Tuck_?”

“As if your _Kellogg_ is so much better. Cereal company.”

“Hey –”

“Guys,” Harry halted the argument firmly, “Enough about the degrees. _I_ don’t have an MBA, do you see me bitchin’ about it?”

The guys looked chastised and left the office, grumbling and a couple of them still arguing with one another under their breaths.

When the door was closed, Harry sighed, seemingly still annoyed at the Harvard MBAs, and said aloud, “If I didn’t know better, Spidey, I’d suspect you of collecting information on us for Jim Plates.”

Peter popped his head into view, “Jim who?”

“Synthetech,”

“ _Oh,_ ” Synthetech again, seriously? “You know I’m _not_ ,right?” One could never be too careful around paranoid people like Harry Osborn.

Harry snorted as he moved to stand next to the windows, “Of _course._ Peter, stop being so paranoid. It’s starting to get annoying.”

What? “Who are you calling paranoid, Mr. Paranoid?”

“You’ve got 30 seconds to change my mind about scraping you off of my goddamn windows.”

Peter was unfazed, because he now knew Harry enough to tell it wasn’t a real threat. The sentiment might be there, but Harry would never act on it. Because Peter was _Peter._ Oh yeah, Peter felt pretty good about that.

He considered telling Harry outright he needed to be cheered up, but he then decided it’d sound pathetic and would just be giving Harry free oral ammunition against him. Well, talking to Harry about random stuff always helped improve his mood.

“What was all that with the Harvard MBAs?”

Harry scoffed at the mention of the earlier meeting. “The four of them, all first-year MBAs, are doing a startup consulting firm. They wanted to offer their service to us, we said ‘not interested’, they said ‘just one chance’, so we let them analyze Energy’s current situation. We knew they wouldn’t be up for the job since they’d only been in the MBA program for a couple of months _and_ none of them has any experience working in business. One veteran, one scientist, and two liberal arts people.” He snorted again, “But we gave them a chance anyway because we thought _maybe_ they could surprise us. They’re from HBS, after all.” And he snorted again.

Peter had trouble understanding 53% of what he was talking about, but he knew one thing for sure: the Harvard MBAs’ embarrassing performance did not warrant such level of disdain and annoyance. No, it was almost as if it was _personal_.

“You’re jealous,” he declared smugly.

“What?” Harry asked sharply.

Peter grinned behind his mask, “You’re jealous they got into Harvard!”

Harry looked like a deer caught in the headlights; not too obvious, but Peter knew what to look for.

“Why would I be jealous of a bunch of self-important morons?” Harry retorted defensively.

Peter’s grin widened. “Because they’re in Harvard?”

Harry tried to conceal his anger and, yes, _jealousy_ , but failed miserably. “I’m from Columbia, _hello_?”

“Yes, our dear old Columbia is perfect and wonderful,” Peter thought of his own _alma mater_ fondly, “ _But_ , _they_ are getting their MBAs.”

Harry looked as if he was about to deny it again, but then he huffed through his nose and glared at Peter with narrowed, warning eyes, “What do you want me to say? That I’m insanely jealous that they’re getting an MBA from _Harvard_ while I’m _not_ , even when we’re about the same age? ’Cause you’re right, you’re right about _everything_. There, you win. Happy now?”

Harry actually looked genuinely dejected and sad. For a smart guy, Harry could be such an idiot sometimes.

“You _do_ know they’re jealous of you, too, right?” Peter explained patiently, “Look at you: twenty-something and already the CEO of a huge, big shot corporation; while _they’re_ out there looking for jobs and trying to start their own company, you already have a bunch of people, young and old, calling you _boss_.” It was gratifying to see the jealous grimace disappear from Harry’s face, replaced by an increasingly self-satisfied smile. “I mean, you literally control _millions_ of dollars!”

“Billions,” Harry corrected immediately, smiling happily, “though I’d say it’s the Board and the Shareholders that actually…”

“The _point_ is, I may not know much about business schools, but most people go there so they could _become_ people like you, right? So you’re basically ahead of the game!”

“True,” Harry nodded solemnly, thoroughly in the Smug Zone now.

Looking at Harry’s once again not-jealous-of-Harvard-MBAs face, Peter gave himself a mental pat on the back. Good job, Parker. Frankly, he didn’t know business people liked comparing degrees just as much as everyone else. But considering how materialistic they were as a whole, he shouldn’t be surprised. Then again, scientists could be real assholes, too.

“Feeling better?” he playfully asked Harry, who was still smiling smugly.

Harry snapped out of whatever Smugland he was in, and cleared his throat, “Much better, in fact.” He then added awkwardly, “Thanks.”

“Anything for you, buddy,” Peter said cheerfully. Huh. Turned out talking to Harry about random stuff did cheer him up. This wasn’t the first time Peter was amazed by his own Nice-ness. He was so very nice that cheering others up would in turn cheer himself up. “Just so you know, I poked you about the jealousy part not because I thought it was fun,”

Harry looked at him wordlessly for a brief while before softening subtly, “You did it because you like talking about _feelings_.”

It was a friendly jibe, as rare as non-negative emotional displays, so Peter treasured this one as well. “Exactly!” he said, “All that bottled up jealousy couldn’t be healthy for you, especially when said jealousy was stupid in the first place.”

Harry actually nodded. Wow. They just had an almost normal conversation.

“Just so _you_ know,” Harry said, suddenly awkward again, “I fired them not because I was jealous of them,”

“I know, buddy. I know.” Peter said gently. Honestly, he was elated. He didn’t think Harry would ever feel the need to explain himself to _him_ , but apparently they were making such progress with their friendship that they were now equals instead of avenger and the accused. Harry now worried about how his actions would look like to _Peter_. Peter was glad for the mask, otherwise Harry would ask him about the doubtlessly stupid smile on his face. “You have way too much integrity to do something petty and low like that. I saw their presentation, it really was horrible.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched vaguely, “I hate to say this, but I’m actually glad you came over today,”

Peter perked up, “Does that mean from now on I can just drop by whenever I want?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Haven’t you been doing that already?”

That wasn’t a no.

“Yeah, well, you were never happy to see me,” Peter didn’t want to sound whiny, just stating an objective fact, but it still came out whiny and a little accusing.

Harry paused. Then he frowned at a spot on the far wall. He was in fact frowning at something in his head, probably. He looked like he was mulling something over, albeit tensely and uncomfortably. Then, after 79 seconds of tense silence, he finally exhaled through his nose, annoyed (as usual) but resolute. Peter almost jumped when Harry abruptly returned his attention to him.

“Peter,” he began solemnly. Which also sounded like pulling teeth. Based on past empirical data, Peter knew whatever he was gonna say, it had to be _good_ , probably something along the line of thanking Peter for being awesome.

“I have reached a conclusion,” Harry continued, still sounded like pulling teeth.

_Go ooon._

“You’re not as big a jerk as you used to be,”

Oh. Okay, maybe not exactly what Peter was looking for, but close enough.

“You’ve been,” Harry grimaced, “ _good_ to me. Even though you’re still an asshole, you’ve been surprisingly nice, and you’ve been a,” he grimaced again, “ _positive_ influence in my life. So far. Since you showed up at my door like a hobo. Not before, of course. You were a certified douchebag before that.”

If Harry grimaced _one_ more time before he was going to say something nice about Peter, Peter would start feeling offended. And trust Harry Osborn to be the one human being on Earth that had trouble appreciating Peter Parker; he’d managed to make it sound like a thank-you, a compliment _and_ an insult at the same time.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Harry continued awkwardly, eyes reluctantly but determinedly still on Peter, “I want to,” Seriously, _another_ grimace? “ _thank_ you for…doing what you’ve been doing. Dragging me out to the Central Park, being supportive, and, _you_ know, nice things. So,” he grimaced one last time, “ _Thank you_.”

Was it weird that Peter could now read Harry so well that he’d actually correctly predicted his actions? Probably. Was it awesome? You _betcha_. Peter was about to say a heartfelt _You’re welcome!_ when Harry kept on talking. “ _And_ ,” he shifted awkwardly but still kept his eyes on Peter’s face, “I’m _sorry_ that I _may_ have been…a little too mean to you.” _Understatement of the Century, pal._ “You did deserve it at _first_ , but I shouldn’t have kept it up after, you know, all those nice things you did. So, in _conclusion_ ,” What a nerd. “I apologize. For being an asshole.”

Harry must be the only one who apologized to someone and then glowered at the same person afterwards with a look that said _Don’t expect me to EVER say that again_. And, right there and then, Peter couldn’t have cared less about the glower.

Ever since last night’s Derek-bitching session, Peter had sensed that something’d changed between them. Well, things had been changing between them since he moved in, but last night was a turning point. Since then, Peter had felt much bolder in their interactions, more confident, more certain of where they both stood.

And now Harry’d thanked him and apologized to him, again, and it wasn’t even like the last time after the Central Park trip. This time, Harry acknowledged he was a better person than before and thanked him for _all the things_ he’d done so far, and then he apologized for being an asshole the _whole time_. Peter wanted to cry. He’d been waiting for this moment for god knew how long.

He wasn’t so naïve as to presume their friendship was completely restored, but he knew things would be different between them now.

Harry was waiting for his reaction awkwardly. Happy and hopeful and full of joy, Peter grinned behind his mask and said, “Can we do that again after we get home so we don’t have this giant piece of glass between us?”

Harry narrowed his eyes and warned, “Don’t push your luck.” But he was smiling grudgingly; he knew Peter was just joking and he was _indeed_ amused by it. Wasn’t it amazing that Peter could crack a joke now and Harry would actually find it funny? In his reluctant, grudging way, of course.

Clearly relieved he could finally turn away from Peter now (and stop talking about _feelings_ ), Harry sat down at his desk and proceeded to look through a depressing stack of documents. Still dizzy and euphoric, Peter decided to leave Harry to his work. He’d come here to be cheered up, and cheered up he was. _Man,_ Harry was good at this. Who’d have thought Harry Osborn would excel at making Peter Parker feel better? First last night, now this. Peter smiled fondly – and potentially sappily – at his hardworking best friend.

Before he could bid said best friend farewell, though, Harry looked up at him. “Where made you come over in the first place, anyway?”

“Oh, that,” Peter shrugged, “I was feeling down, so I thought you might cheer me up.”

“I didn’t realize I run a psychia –” Harry visibly snapped his mouth shut to stop the no doubt snarky comment he was gonna offer out of reflex. Peter smiled; things really were different between them now. Harry cleared his throat and asked, albeit impatiently, “What happened?”

“Nah, it doesn’t really matter now. I’m plenty cheered up already.” Peter told him the truth brightly, “You’re really good at this.”

Harry, being Harry, wasn’t satisfied with the answer, of course. He probably sensed something big was going on. “Good to know. What happened?”

Peter considered not telling him, because it was kind of embarrassing and pathetic. But then again, he’d made Harry admit to feeling jealous of other people’s degrees, so fair was fair.

“Finals are next week.” Peter had thought he was able to, at last, think of the finals without panicking. How _wrong_ he was. Speaking the four words out loud gave him an entirely new perspective on how _dire_ his situation was. He was definitely hyperventilating.

Harry’s eyes were big like saucers. “But you haven’t been studying at all!” It was very bizarre that Harry looked like he was panicking, too.

“I _know_!” Peter agreed in despair.

“What were you thinking?!” Harry accused, as if the finals were in fact _his_ finals, as if he still felt strongly about exams even after all these years he’d been out of school.

What followed afterwards was surreal in and of itself. And very, _very_ bizarre.

Harry made Peter go home and study immediately. When Harry got home himself a couple of hours later, he actually interrogated Peter about his progress.

“Do you have a _plan_?” Harry asked over dinner, spreading butter on his bread roughly (poor bread), “How much do you need to catch up on for each course? How many finals do you have, anyway?”

Peter rolled his eyes, “Harry, relax, you’re not my _mom_.”

“You’re lucky I’m not your mom. If I were, I’d make you clean the toilets with toothbrush for being a goddamn slacker.”

Peter gasped theatrically, “Mom! How could you swear in front of your kid?”

“Very funny,” Harry glowered, “What’s even _funnier_ is you might lose your _scholarship_ if you flunk the finals.”

Peter winced and bit into his garlic bread to comfort himself. “Don’t remind me.”

“Then get to work already!” Harry scolded, “Eat faster! Quit wasting time! _Move!_ On the double!”

Okay, Harry wasn’t a mom. He was a crazy drill sergeant.

What made the whole thing surreal and bizarre was that _Harry_ , of all people, Harry the B-Student, Harry “I suck at school” Osborn, was pushing him, forcefully pushing him, to study harder and not fail his finals. And he was actually pretty seriousabout it.

Peter got a rude awakening at 5 A.M. every day the whole week, which really made him regret moving into Harry’s bedroom in the first place, because apparently it was all too easy for Heartless Harry to wake a peacefully slumbering superhero with shrill alarm clocks, incessant hollering and, sometimes, ice-cold water. Peter had always wondered when Harry got up each morning, but he didn’t ask for _this_. As if waking him up before the sun even rose wasn’t bad enough, Harry made him _study_ once he had his outrageously early breakfast. It was so early that they had to have the lights on during breakfast! Jesus Christ. Peter (very) briefly considered moving back to his haunted guestroom, but. Yeah. _Haunted._ So that was out of the question. And a locked guestroom door probably wouldn’t be able to stop Harry from barging in anyway.

Harry also took away his police radio, saying Charlie would keep an “ear” on it for him. And no, since criminals were staying home to keep warm in this cold weather, he didn’t need to patrol, either. Fine, he could go out and patrol when he _really_ needed a break from all the studying. Patrols equaled study breaks, study breaks equaled patrols. Multitasking was the key, never forget that. Peter had no idea Harry was a results-oriented maniac.

Harry must have sicced Charlie on him because now he saw Charlie practically everywhere in the mansion. Charlie wouldn’t let him watch TV, read newspapers, or even listen to radio. Hell, he even took away his right to daydream! The robot poked him pointedly whenever his thoughts strayed to non-study-related topics. He was just getting a bag of chips and Charlie instantly descended upon him like a vulture and cruelly snatched the chips away. The only thing he was allowed to do at home was study, study, study. Sick of studying? Get out and patrol. One day, Charlie even brought him a book, a “gift” from Harry: _How Not to Get Booted from Your Graduate Program for DUMMIES_. They were definitely in cahoots.

Bernard, bless his soul, was the only normal person left. He prepared extra-healthy food and offered Peter sage advice on winging exams. Wait. He was in cahoots, too!

Harry still went to work early and came home late, but he _called_ Peter, actually _called_ Peter, to check on his progress throughout the day. Peter took back what he’d said about Harry. He wasn’t a mom OR a crazy drill sergeant. He was a mutant combo of BOTH.

Harry might drive him hard, but he made sure he’d stay healthy for the big days because “sneezing and blowing your nose through the finals would completely defeat the purpose”. Peter was a little offended that Harry thought he couldn’t handle being sick and acing finals at the same time. He was Peter “Straight-A Student” Parker, after all! Or at least he used to be. But there was no arguing with Stubborn Harry when he set his mind to something, so Peter was shepherded off to his good old mattress on the floor at ten, sharp, every night.

What made the whole thing _really_ surreal and bizarre was Harry was actually _good_ at it, too. No matter how much Peter whined every morning and grumbled every afternoon and complained every night, he knew he was swiftly making progress and getting readier and readier for the finals. Working at Oscorp seemed to have made Harry a professional multitasker, not to mention much more responsible and good at pushing for results. The only downside was his friend had also developed an unhealthy sense of urgency regarding finals. Regardless, this whole _Finals Week Initiative_ of Harry’s was working exceptionally well, and now Peter was more than confident that he just might be able to save his scholarship.

Well, not that he couldn’t have done that _on his own_ , because he was a brilliant _genius_ , the next Albert Einstein, really. But he was also…touched. Touched that Harry cared so much, that Bernard and Charlie cared so much. He’d always been an A+ student, so Aunt May and Uncle Ben never needed to worry about his grades, trusting him to stay motivated and study hard. Even when his grades suffered during that unfortunate period of balancing Spider-Man duties, financial difficulties, and Mary Jane-pining, he didn’t tell Aunt May any of his problems at school, not wanting to worry or disappoint her. Aunt May was used to his depressing, nonexistent love life and inability to hold onto a job, but potentially failing a class? No, that would worry her sick.

But now, he wasn’t alone in his academic struggles, not anymore. Now he had people that encouraged and supported him (Bernard), people that pushed him to do the best he could (Charlie), and, of course, people that worried and hollered and just basically bossed him around (Harry). It was a relief that he could just come home and complain about his troubles with schoolwork to people who’d already seen him at his worst. It’d been so nice that he didn’t have to deal with his academic crises all by himself. So, yes, he was moved and grateful to the three of them, even though they forgot he was the second coming of Einstein.

“Can quantum mechanics and general relativity be realized as a fully consistent theory?” Harry asked intently over dinner on Saturday night.

Peter groaned. “That’s not fair – that’s an unsolved problem! How am I supposed to know the answer when the greatest scientists in the world haven’t even solved it?”

Harry narrowed his eyes, “But don’t you at least have some _opinions_ about it? What if your Quantum Gravity final asked you to comment on that?”

Harry might have stopped being an asshole to him, but he was still grouchy and easily annoyed.

Peter sighed long-sufferingly; he was _so_ ready for winter break. Harry looked unrelenting and demanding, so Peter gave the problem some consideration. “Well…would a consistent theory involve a force mediated by a hypothetical graviton, or would it be a product of a…discrete structure of spacetime itself? Are there _deviations_ from the predictions of general relativity at very small or very large scales or, or in other _extreme_ circumstances that flow from a quantum gravity theory?”

Peter could’ve just spouted some random bullshit with scientific terms thrown in to sound authentic, but it was _Harry_. Peter had too much respect for the guy to do something like that. Plus, Harry was just trying to help. _Plus_ , Harry unfortunately knew just enough about science to recognize scientific bullshit when he heard one.

Harry nodded, satisfied with the answer. “I have no idea how quantum gravity works, but I think you’re ready.”

Peter beamed. Coming from his mom-drill sergeant, that really meant a lot. It was Saturday already, one day left before his first final on Monday, and although Peter was still kind of anxious about how he’d do on the final exams, he felt rather calm and confident about them, no longer having the urge to panic as he told himself _finals are next week_. It had only been a few days, but it certainly felt like months had passed since that fateful afternoon at the Oscorp Building. Peter even felt a little bit of excitement at the prospect of finally taking the finals. Right now, he just wanted to get them over with and begin celebrating Christmas properly.

“Thanks, buddy. I couldn’t have done it without you.” Peter said with feeling.

Harry grimaced, “Don’t jinx yourself. Thank me _after_ you’re done with them.”

Peter smiled cheerfully, because someone had to balance Harry’s pessimistic gloom with optimistic cheer, but he did remind himself to stay focused and not get too relaxed.

“You know,” Peter said conversationally, deciding that some not school-related conversations would be refreshing for his study-weary brains, “Betty told me there’s this charity gala coming up next weekend,”

Harry grunted grumpily, “Unfortunately,”

Peter perked up, “You’re going?”

“Every. God-forsaken. Year.” Harry enunciated each word gloomily.

“You’re so lucky!” Peter said cheerfully, “There’ll be celebrities and good food and drinks!”

“And politicians and my fellow businessmen,” Harry made a face, “The politicians always expect hefty donations from companies like us.” He sniffed, “As if it’s our _duty_ to fund their political ambitions.”

“But you guys _are_ rich,”

“Negative earnings, remember? Besides, even if we’re profitable, we’ve _earned_ every single goddamn penny. Those politicians, they just talk and scheme and talk and look pretty and then _ask for money_.”

Well, _someone_ had the businessman’s government complex. What a bunch of Scrooges, didn’t want to make donations when they probably had billions of dollars in reserve. But that was between Corporate America and the Big Brother, so Peter would politely stay out of this age-old battle.

Harry cut his grilled tuna intently with a fierce scowl, as if he was already imagining how horrible the gala would be and he was blaming the poor tuna for it.

“C’mon, buddy,” Peter tried to cheer him up with sheer will power, “You get to go every year. That means you’re important enough!”

Harry scoffed, “More like Oscorp’s wallet is big enough,”

“But don’t you feel good about yourself?” Peter soldiered on, “Mr. Jameson would _kill_ to get an invitation.”

“I didn’t know he was so eager to give his hard-earned money to a bunch of –”

“Nah, he just wants to send his people in there so the _Bugle_ could do a full-on cover on the gala like the big boys.” And really, it wasn’t very fair that _New York Times_ got to attend but the _Daily Bugle_ didn’t.

Harry looked up at him thoughtfully. Peter knew that look. Harry was scheming.

“So, hypothetically,” Harry said with a calculating gleam in his one good eye, “if one of Jameson’s employees, say, a photographer, was able to get in, he’d love that employee so much that he’d never fire said employee ever again?”

Peter had no idea what he was getting at. “Probably, yeah.”

Harry was obviously displeased with the look of confusion on his face. He sighed in irritation and demanded bluntly, “Do you want a press pass to the gala?”

Peter choked on his mouthful of tuna and coughed. “ _What?_ ”

Harry was nothing but impatient, “You wanna get in or not?”

So Peter hadn’t heard it wrong. …Huh. “Are you saying you can…get me into the _gala_?”

Dear sweet mother of Jesus. _Imagine,_ him, at the charity gala, where the cream of New York’s society gathered! Movie stars, musicians, athletes, the Mayor, _physicists!_ Chemists! Biologists!

Harry gave him the stink eye. Was his internal gushing that obvious? “The _purpose_ of all this is to get you onto Jameson’s good side,”

Oh. That. Peter really should start thinking more about holding onto his job and less about meeting celebrities. Speaking of galas, though…

“Hey, Harry?” Peter asked cautiously.

“What?”

“Remember John Jameson’s ‘hero’s welcome’ gala at the planetarium…?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, “Where M.J. agreed to marry him, sure.”

Peter pushed down the surge of guilt; he still hadn’t apologized to Mr. Jameson’s son for stealing his bride who left him standing at the altar. “You’re not gonna…y’know, get drunk and slap me again, right?”

Harry glared at him, “What, you want a repeat performance?”

“No! No no no no no!” Peter shook his hands and head desperately, “Just making sure, that’s all!”

Harry glared at him hard, but then he must have remembered he was supposed to try to be nice now, so instead of a snarky comment, he opted for an annoyed sigh. “I haven’t been drunk since the Board gave me my job back after the Octavius Incident. And I haven’t really had any drinks at all since you threw a bomb in my face.”

_But you threw that bomb at me first!_ Peter might be sorry about what happened, but Harry really needed to get it into his stubborn head that not _everything_ that went wrong that night was _Peter’s_ fault. Peter was going to remind him of that very objective fact –

“Shut up,” said Harry preemptively, “I know I threw the thing at you first. So, just, _shut up_.”

So maybe Harry wasn’t as thickheaded as he thought. Good. Peter grinned, “Don’t you find it weird?”

Harry sniffed, “Find _what_ weird?”

Peter’s smug grin widened, “That you always know what I’m going to say,”

Harry gave him the stink eye again, “Because you’re predictable, as I already told you?”

“ _Or_ ,” Peter dared to point out playfully, “ _maybe_ we’re mentally connected! Like there’s a _bond_! Like Kirk and Spock! Like –”

“Don’t you _dare_ say it,”

“Soulmates!”

Harry looked like he was going to throw up. “Are you so desperate for a soulmate that you’ve changed the very definition of ‘soulmates’?”

“What, you think best buddies can’t be soulmates? _So_ last century,” Peter pfft’d condescendingly. No wonder Harry got a kick out of being condescending; being condescending was _fun_ , especially when he did it to condescending jerks like Harry.

Harry, looking supremely annoyed, narrowed his eyes at him and offered one of the lamest and most clichéd responses of all time: “Don’t you have finals to study for?”

Peter sighed theatrically before letting his grouchy friend off the hook, “If that helps you sleep at night, fine.” He dared send him a joking wink, “Soulmate.”

Harry actually gave him the finger.

-:-

Peter checked his name and student I.D. number for the eighteenth time before finally handing his finished final exam to Josh the T.A. He didn’t feel like repeating last semester’s incident where he, for some unfathomable reason, put the name of the classmate sitting in front of him on his _own_ exam. It was so stupid and embarrassing that it wasn’t even funny.

“Happy Holidays!” Josh said merrily as he rearranged the stack of completed exams into a neat pile.

Peter breathed a deep sigh of relief. That was the last final. It was over, it was finally OVER! Happy Holidays, indeed!

As soon as he was out of the lecture hall, Peter pulled out his cell phone. Before he could call Harry, though, he got an incoming call from Harry himself.

“Hey, soulmate,” he answered the call giddily.

Harry, just like a mom, let him get away with almost anything during Finals Week. Harry even stopped flipping him the bird whenever Peter felt daring enough to call him by his brand new nickname. Everything was excusable as long as he didn’t flunk his finals. Even though the pep talks at 6 A.M. were a little too much, they kept Peter from oversleeping and being late to the finals – there was this one time last semester where he got to a final two hours late and it was only the _memory_ of his star-student days that moved Dr. Connors enough to let him take a makeup final.

“For the last time, if you say that _one_ more time –”

“But you always call when I’m done with a final,”

“Because I have your Finals Week schedule, genius. It’s on Columbia’s website.”

“But you always do that _exactly_ as soon as I’m outta the building! If that doesn’t count as a soul bond –”

“I took at least five finals there, moron. Of course I know how long it takes to leave the building.”

“You’re in denial. It’s okay, I understand. You’re just _shyyyyy_. Soulmate.” Peter knew his Week of Free to Do Anything could end any moment now that his finals were all done, so he tried to exploit it as much as possible while it still lasted. Suffice to say, he was in an extraordinarily good mood. He didn’t know the grades yet, but he had a good feeling about all of them.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat solemnly, suddenly not in the mood of teasing his grouch of a friend anymore, “Thank you for, you know, everything.”

Harry snorted, “You’d better _pray_ you’ve scored at least 90% on all of them,”

Which was Harry’s way of saying “you’re welcome”, so Peter grinned, “Still, thank you.”

“Does that mean you’ll stop calling me ‘soulmate’ now?” Geez, only Harry would have such a stubborn one-track mind.

“Never!” Peter declared happily.

“Trust me, bug, you _don’t_ wanna force my hand.” Maybe it was just Peter, but Harry sounded increasingly not-scary by the day. Ha.

“So are you pumped for the gala tomorrow?” Peter deftly changed the subject. He’d become a pro at that.

“Oh, I’m just _stoked_ ,” Harry said nastily, though the nastiness wasn’t aimed at Peter, so that was okay. “Did you tell your boss about the press pass?”

Oops. “ _Yeah_ ,”

“I knew you’d forget,”

“I didn’t!”

“Right,”

“I’m just waiting to deliver the good news to him _in person_ , because I’m actually going to the office _right now_.”

“Just don’t forget it again on your way. Bugs are so easily distracted.”

“Hey!” Peter was seriously offended, “What did my crawling brethren ever do to you?”

“They’re _your_ brethren. That’s reason enough for me.”

“One day, we bugs will unite and overthrow your tyrannical reign of terror.”

“What did I tell you about being easily distracted?”

“…Shut up.”

-:-

“Parker, you’re officially my most distinguished employee!” J.J.J. announced grandly. “I don’t care how you pulled that off, but you secured a pass one day before the gala! Are you a miracle worker or _what_?”

“Just got some friends in high places, sir,” Peter couldn’t help but feel, just a little bit, smug about it.

“Well, make sure you keep those friends,” Jameson ordered solemnly, “Never know when we’ll need ’em again.”

Peter happened to have every intention to keep this slowly improving friendship going.

-:-

Harry was, well, he was ironing his dress shirt when Peter got back to the mansion.

“Someone’s _stoked_ about the gala tomorrow night,” Peter joked, his blissful post-finals Friday-Winter Break-Christmas-New Year mood had only intensified after J.J.J. proclaimed him his Favorite Person on the Planet.

Harry scowled at his dress shirt resentfully and looked up at him, “Black tie required, pal, better get to it.”

Peter frowned, “Get to what?”

Harry gestured at his dress shirt with the iron, “It’s not even business formal; it’s _black tie_.” He waited for Peter to respond, but Peter, utterly puzzled ( _There’s a **difference** between business formal and black tie?_ ), only stared at him blankly. “As in dinner jacket, bow tie, and all that?”

Peter still stared at him blankly.

Harry sighed in exasperation and switched tactics, “Those events in the movies where people wear tuxedos?”

“ _That’s_ black tie?” Peter couldn’t understand why people of wealth or power make everything so complicated. Wasn’t it bad enough that people had to wear _suits_ already? Nooo, there had to be _tuxedos_ , and _bow ties_ , and whatever other bullshit they cooked up. Peter wept for humanity.

Harry finished up with his ironing and put down the iron before eyeing Peter with an assessing gaze, “You don’t even have a tuxedo, do you?”

-:-

Peter felt…smart. Oh, very, _very_ smart, indeed. He was _born_ to wear a tuxedo and bow tie and all that! _And_ he was born to attend black tie events like the New York City Charity Gala! The sophisticated décor, the elegant atmosphere, the graceful music, the fine food! Beautiful men and women dressed in their finest! He could totally die here. Harry must be crazy to actually hate all this.

“Enjoying yourself?” Peter was interrupted from his star-struck, gushy train of thought and he found Harry standing next to him with a glass of wine in hand.

Peter grinned, “Thanks for getting me in, buddy. This is _glorious_.” He then, for the twenty-eighth time that night, checked himself out again. “And thanks for the Hugo Poss.”

“Hugo Boss,”

“Who is _awesome_. No wonder James Bond wears tuxedo – I’ve never felt handsomer my whole life!”

Harry gave him a judgmental _You’re completely missing the point_ look, but then obligingly looked him over, “You’re all right,”

Of course Harry should know, because he was the one that dragged Peter out to a Hugo Boss store to buy the full black tie attire the night before. Who’d have thought emergency shopping could be so fun? Harry even said he could keep those as Christmas presents.

Harry himself, except for the sourpuss look on his face, looked particularly dashing in his own big-brand-that-Peter-didn’t-know formal wear. Seriously, every guy looked handsome in his tuxedo and every lady looked beautiful in her gown tonight. _Black Tie Required_ made complete sense.

Peter was utterly in love with his splendid surroundings. John Jameson’s planetarium gala didn’t even come close. Speaking of the guy, Peter still needed to apologize to him for ruining his wedding.

“You’re not too shabby yourself,” Peter cheerfully responded in kind.

Harry just shrugged and sipped his wine gloomily. He then looked up and seemed to have recognized someone, “Duty calls, Peter.” He left Peter’s side, but not before saying judgmentally, “Don’t forget to do the job you’re hired for.” And he was gone in the mingling crowd.

Wondering vaguely if the government paid for this expensive yet majestic event with taxpayer money, Peter wandered around in search of something to dr – was that _Viggo Mortensen_?!

Peter quickly meandered through the celebrities and business people in desperate pursuit. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, Peter _had_ to take a picture of him and – was that Madonna?! Oh man, which one to take pictures first? Peter was overwhel – Holy shit, Bill Murray!

…Peter had no idea he could be such a _fanboy_. Internally. That was kind of embarrassing. Thank goodness no one knew what was going on in his head. However, it was all in the spirit of – Bill Nye! Bill Nye the Science Guy! Peter’s own legs were already carrying him towards his childhood idol at full speed before he could recover from the joyful shock. His legs worked faster than his brains. Like a cockroach.

Pride and dignity were overrated, anyway.

A long dizzying talk with Bill Nye, numerous photos taken of various celebrities, businesspeople and government officials, consuming a nice assortment of expensive food and drink, meeting two reporters from _Wall Street Journal_ , and running into Bill Nye again and acquiring a simply _beautiful_ autograph from him later, Peter began looking for Harry again.

He sincerely hoped Harry wasn’t holing up in a corner and drinking himself to craziness again. That would not bold well for Peter’s face. Or Harry’s reputation among New York’s elites. Peter probably wasn’t giving his friend enough credit, but with Osborns, you could never tell for sure.

This place was _huge_. Peter knew it was big, but he never truly understood just _how_ big it really was until he honestly needed to find a particular person. Peter was thinking about giving up and calling Harry’s cell phone instead when he heard a sly old voice saying:

“Ah, Harry, Harry Osborn.”

Peter looked to his right and, lo and behold, there was Harry holding a different glass of alcohol and turning around to face an approaching tall old man that was smiling widely but obviously insincere. The old guy’s hair was all white, but he still retained a remarkable amount of hair, all neat and slick. His eyes were cold and hard, not unlike that unpleasant, self-serving schmuck John Morgan. Must be another businessman, then.

Harry smiled his own fake, insincere smile when the old guy stopped in front of him. “Jim,” he greeted with a distinct undercurrent of dislike and _So, we meet again, asshole_.

If Peter didn’t know better, he’d say this “Jim” was Harry’s archenemy.

Old Man Jim’s smile widened, “How have you been? We’ve heard so much about good old Oscorp lately.”

Harry inserted enough patronization for Old Man Jim to notice but not enough for him to actually accuse him of being patronizing, “Of course you have.” His fake smile widened, too, “And Synthetech is –”

“Doing better than ever,” a much younger guy, around the same age as Harry, probably Old Man Jim’s son since they looked so much alike, joined the conversation uninvited, wearing his own fake, insincere smile. What was _with_ these people?

Hold on. Synthetech. Jim. As in Jim Plates. As in Synthetech’s founder and supreme ruler. So he was Harry’s archenemy, after all.

“Hey, Jeff,” Harry greeted Probably Jim Plates’ Son curtly, polite and passive. He didn’t show it, but Peter knew he was Seriously Annoyed that his comeback was rudely interrupted, and by none other than Probably Jim Plates’ Son.

Despite the strong family resemblance, Jeff was also very different from Jim Plates. Not only was he much younger, he was also much less subtle. Where Jim Plates would just offer passive-aggressive disguised as polite observations and comments, Jeff would just tell his opponent _I’m superior, you suck_ . He certainly looked like that kind of unsubtle guy, at least. Peter disliked him already. And Jim Plates. Both jackasses in their own right.

_Because they’re assholes to Harry. Assholes._

“So, Harry,” Jeff said with such slyness and a blatant tone of foreboding that it was so obvious what was coming out of his unsubtle mouth would be an insult, “I heard they fixed your face with skin from your ass,”

Peter was thankful he didn’t choke on his champagne, but he was definitely close. _Can you **believe** this guy?! What the hell is his problem?! _ Peter felt horror and, more distinctly, anger surging through him because _how dare he?_ How dare he speak of something he didn’t even understand, something Harry had to _suffer_ through? How dare he bring the unfortunate incident up _here_ of all places?

It would be extremely bad manners, not to mention potentially making a spectacle, to dump that bowl of gravy over there on the buffet table on Jeff’s head and his oh-so-expensive clothes, so Peter pushed the anger and impulse down and waited to see if dumping gravy on the guy would really be a _bad_ idea. Just in case.

Jim Plates regarded Probably His Son with a stiff smile, which spoke volume about how much he disapproved and thought Jeff lacked taste and finesse, but he couldn’t exactly shut Jeff up at that moment without breaking the image of a united front against Harry.

Harry didn’t react at all. Peter could tell from his tightening hold on the wine glass that he in fact wanted to punch Jeff and send his Semi-Sentient Explosive Flying Sharp Objects after him. Probably Charlie, too. Harry must have anticipated something vile from Jeff, but he definitely didn’t think Jeff would have the indecency to talk about _that_ in polite company. In public. At the _Charity Gala_.

Harry still didn’t react. Perhaps because Jeff was obvious and boisterous and he _obviously_ still had a punch line to deliver.

Jeff didn’t disappoint. He was so proud of his punch line that he couldn’t even wait for a response from Harry.

“That’s lucky for you. I mean, now people don’t even need to _bend over_ to kiss your _ass_.”

Okay, he was so getting the gravy.

Harry actually offered a genuine smile; a genuine, smug, _You’re dead meat_ smile. Peter, for a moment, very briefly considered if he should feel sorry for Jeff.

“Jeff,” said Harry deliberately slowly, “At least I can still see _who_ are kissing my ass.”

Jeff’s face contorted in shock and insult, “Are you saying I can’t tell who the ass-kissers are?”

“No.” Harry looked at him calmly, “I’m implying it.”

Oh no. Harry just made sure he’d really pissed Jeff off. However big of an asshole Jeff had been, Peter wasn’t sure that was a smart move from Harry. Harry must have been really pissed himself.

Jim Plates looked like he wanted to sigh at the rate things were swiftly deteriorating, because Jeff then took a step towards Harry as if he was going to strike back, figuratively or literally or both.

Things were about to get real ugly.

Well, two against one was never fair, anyway.

Peter walked up to them, calling out cheerfully, “Mr. Plates!”

Peter now knew for sure that Jeff was indeed also a Mr. Plates since he’d snapped his head to Peter’s direction instinctively the same time as Old Man Jim as soon as he heard Peter’s enthusiastic call.

Harry regarded him curiously while both Plateses eyed him with caution and feigned friendliness.

“Peter Parker from the _Daily Bugle_ ,” Peter introduced himself eagerly, channeling the eager-to-meet-famous-people reporter stereotype. Jeff unsubtly glanced at the press pass on his front. Paranoid jerk.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Parker,” Jim Plates, ever the smooth one, offered pleasantly.

“Would you comment on the fact that SEC has launched an investigation into Synthetech’s –”

“My apologies, Mr. Parker,” Jim Plates interrupted politely, as if he really was sorry. What a fraud. “But I do believe I see Senator Molina. If you’d excuse me…”

“Oh, of course, of course!” Peter assured him cheerfully, “Don’t let me keep you!” See that? Peter should _at least_ get a Golden Globe for that performance.

Jim Plates gracefully exited the scene with Jeff in tow, who glared at Harry one last time before following his father to disappear into the crowds.

_That’s right. Run away, assholes._

As soon as they were gone, Peter scoffed in disdain at the father and son. He asked Harry, “Is that ass-clown his son?”

Harry sent the departing pair an especially nasty death glare, “Yes,”

He then turned to Peter, “Peter,”

Maybe it was the food and alcohol talking, but Peter could swear Harry sounded friendlier, so much more _affable_ in that one single word than he had the last couple of weeks combined.

Harry continued once he made sure he had Peter’s attention, “Thanks for earlier. I mean it. It was, it was _brilliant_. How did you even know SEC’s onto them?”

“We only get _Wall Street Journal_ at home,” Peter shrugged and tried to play it cool, as if it was no big deal, even though he was practically _beaming_ inside, “I had no choice.”

But of course Harry saw right through him. “You’re really something, Pete.” He said earnestly, “Thank you. Really. I didn’t want to crack Jeff Plates’ skull open, at least not here, with so many eyewitnesses around, but he didn’t look like he’d give me a choice.” Was it weird Peter now found it _endearing_ that Harry had actually given the idea of cracking Jeff Plates’ skull open disturbingly thorough consideration? “And then _you_ showed up and you were just so…” Harry frowned like he was searching for a compliment worthy of Peter’s heroic deed, “You totally deserve a Golden Globe for that. At the very least.”

Peter’s heart sang. He said emotionally, “I was just telling myself the exact same thing,” and, because Harry _probably_ wouldn’t give him the finger here at the gala, “Soulmate.”

Peter’s brains promptly short-circuited. Harry was _smiling_ at him. Fondly, gratefully, _really_ smiling at him. It was open and bright and even more amazing than the one by the Lake, because it was directed _at_ him, because _of_ him, no adorable ducks, no picturesque half-frozen lakes. All him. Just him.

“Harold!” An old gentlemanly voice called merrily.

Harry grimaced at the use of his full first name and turned quickly to walk over to the merry old man standing by the buffet table.

The moment was over but Peter was still standing there gaping like a fish. A codfish, actually. Or maybe it was a trout. The _point_ was, Peter was stricken by a flash of genius. Because, you know, he was a genius.

He’d just made a major discovery. One that rivaled those of Archimedes and Pythagoras.

He, Peter “Spider-Man” Parker, Bringer of the Christmas Spirit, had fallen in love with Harry “Bah! Humbug!” Osborn.

Talk about Christmas miracles.

Peter knew it was true because, honestly, Harry wasn’t the most attractive person on the planet, personality OR appearance-wise, but he still was the first human being that managed to short-circuit his brains with one single smile. He emphasized on Harry’s species because, throughout his brilliant and genius life, his brains had also been short-circuited by a scientifically artistic poster for a science exhibit, an ancient Tesla coil, and a strangely adorable electron.

He wasn’t bothered with the homosexual nature of the whole thing because, well, according to the latest research, 97% of all human beings are bisexual or homosexual, anyway. Only 3% of them are strictly heterosexual. Peter had been out of the normal distribution ever since he was bitten by that weirdo spider, so it was actually a relief that he was still in the lovely, symmetric bell curve in his own way. Or maybe he was destined to be out of the lovely, symmetric bell curve the moment he was born with these magnificent brains.

But he digressed.

The point was, the more he thought about this unfortunately-not-qualified-for-Nobel-consideration discovery, the more it actually made sense. Despite everything, all the snarkiness and grouchiness and immature vindictiveness and that unbecoming tendency for petty revenge, Harry was an awesome person who had always been there for him, looking out for him; he’d been nice when it mattered. Moreover, the discovery also explained why he felt the urge to tell Harry every (occasionally admittedly random) detail of his life, to just see the guy all the time, to just be near him.

It had to be true love, because he just found Harry increasingly gorgeous and wonderful as he thought more and more about him when he knew full well Harry wasn’t _that_ wonderful or gorgeous, pretty eyes notwithstanding.

Wow, Peter had it _bad_. Like a teenager. How disturbing. And hilarious. Better share it with Harry.

Wait, _no_.

_What’s wrong with you, Brains? Is this how you behave after I’ve been adoring you my whole life? Be productive. Now._

This must be how Einstein felt when he was handed the key to ultimate knowledge and secrets of the universe when he discovered Relativity. Now that Peter had acquired this knowledge of _him being in love with Harry_ , he didn’t have the slightest idea of what he should do with it.

Well, the dilemma was pretty unsophisticated, to be fair. To tell Harry, or not to tell Harry, that was the question.

What a no-brainer. Given Peter’s hopelessly romantic nature and inclinations, not to mention the convenient truth that Harry obviously found him attractive, of course he was gonna tell Harry as soon as he could find the guy –

“Peter, Bill Nye just went that way,” Harry showed up out of nowhere and gestured at the other side of the grand hall with his plate full of food.

Bill! Oh yeah, Peter was now on first name-basis with the Science Guy.

“Thanks, buddy!” Peter quickly hurried after the awesome, the incredible, the amazing Bill.

Romantic feelings could wait until _after_ he’d asked Bill to visit Columbia and sign his plasma globe, too.

-:-

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unsolved problem of quantum mechanics and general relativity was taken directly from Wikipedia.


	7. In Which Peter Tries Some Wooing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience and support! :)

When Peter found Harry again, Harry was in a very good mood. 

“Jim and Jeff Plates just vacated the premises,” he informed Peter, pleased to no end. 

This boded well for his impending confession of eternal love. Peter grinned cheerfully, “Like the rats they are,” 

Harry grinned back and raised his glass in a theatrical fashion, “I’ll drink to that.” 

Peter playfully clinked his own glass to Harry’s, “To cowardly rodents,” 

Harry even went so far as to take a sip after the mock-toast. 

_I’m liking my odds here._

“You really are something, buddy.” Harry was suddenly serious again. Sincere, even. 

An _opening_. 

“Harry,” Peter started solemnly. So here was the plan: 

Step 1: Test the water; 

Step 2: If there be no sharks, then full speed ahead; 

Step 3: Enjoy the heavenly goodness of the grilled fish of true love. 

He might have gone overboard with the fishing metaphors. 

Harry eyed him warily at the solemn tone. 

Peter shouldered on. “What do you look for in a relationship?” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed, “ _Relationship?_ ” 

“Romantic relationship,” Peter clarified. 

The moment of truth! 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ve had it with romantic relationships.” 

…Oh. 

Peter’s distress was so obvious that Harry asked in suspicion, “Why do you look like someone’s kicked a puppy?” 

“Because…I’m so sad for you! So very sad…” Peter was indeed feeling very sad, but mostly for himself, “You’ll never know the joy of finding true love…” He hoped his acting was believable. 

“Like how so very happy you were after M.J. broke up with you?” 

“At least I _was_ so very happy when M.J. chose me over John Jameson.” Who he _still_ needed to apologize to. 

“The so very happy journey doesn’t justify the so very bitter end, pal,” 

“But the so very – why are we even arguing about this?” 

“Because you’re feeling _so very sad_ for me and I’m trying to cheer you up?” 

“By bringing up the tragic love story of me and Mary Jane?” 

“Well, what do you expect when…” Harry seemed to realize he was being unnecessarily mean again and awkwardly turned the sentence around, “…I’m clearly being an asshole?” He made a face, except it was at himself, “Sorry, Peter, old habits die hard. You were just worried about me, I know.” 

Peter felt a tiny bit guilty since he was actually just feeling sorry for himself, but Harry didn’t need to know that. “It’s okay, buddy. I guess I just want you to be happy.” 

Harry shrugged, “Well, don’t cry for me, Peter Parker. The last time I tried to do relationship, shit happened. I’m _happy_ to be single.” 

It’d always been Peter’s curse to want to point out the flaws in people’s logic, which was why he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out: “But the last time you weren’t even trying. You were just getting back at me for stealing your… Do you have any idea how much you sound like you got the same-sex version of Oedipus complex sometimes?” 

Harry stared at him. First in shock. Then in disgust. “You are one sick human being, Spi – _Peter_. Can’t a son love his _dad_?” 

“Then why didn’t you try to steal _Aunt May_ instead of M.J.?” 

“Because you’ve always had Aunt May’s love – she loves you unconditionally. M.J., on the other hand…” Harry trailed off meaningfully, deliberately being an asshole this time, probably because he was pissed at Peter for trying to psychoanalyze him. Well, at least _Peter_ thought Peter was doing a pretty decent job. There was just no pleasing some people, jeez. 

Then Harry leveled him with a warning glare, “Can we stop talking about ‘stealing’ people now?” 

Only now did Peter remember they were actually still at the gala. Oops. So maybe it was a good thing he got bitten by a shark during the first test, after all. 

Peter made sure no one was paying attention to them before continuing in a low voice, “What I’m trying to say is, you’ve never tried any relationship for _real_ , so how would you know it wouldn’t be wonderful?” 

Harry regarded him calculatingly, “Since when are you the lobbyist for romantic relationships?” 

Crap. “Since…I decided you shouldn’t be alone!” 

Harry rolled his eyes, “I’m not alone. I have Bernard and Charlie and you.” 

Peter gaped at him. Harry said it so matter-of-factly, as if Peter living in his home for free was the most normal thing in the world, was the way it should be. 

Peter wanted to cry tears of joy. 

“Yes, you do, buddy.” He confirmed sentimentally, “Yes, you do.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes, “Are you up to something? Because you’re acting very suspicious right now.” 

Harry and his suspicious nature. “What – _no_. I’m not up to anything! Are _you_ up to something?” 

Harry sighed obnoxiously, “That cheap technique doesn’t work on me, genius. I’m an evil businessman, remember?” 

“You’re not _evil_ ,” Peter knew it was probably beside the point, but it was important that Harry stopped associating himself with negative words that could also be applied to his actually evil father. 

“Fine, I’m an evil businessman with a heart of gold, whatever. Stop changing the subject.” 

Peter ignored him. “No, you’re a _good_ businessman with a heart of _diamond_.” 

“So I’m a philanthropist?” 

“Yup. Wait, are you?” 

“ _No._ Negative earnings. And quit stalling. Why are you suddenly acting like the female lead of a Nora Ephron movie? And I don’t even know what a Nora Ephron movie _is_.” 

“What?!” Peter bristled, “I’m obviously the _male_ lead of a Nora Ephron movie.” 

Harry gave him a smug smile, “Exactly,” 

Asshole. “Shut up.” 

Harry was annoyingly persistent. “Why _are_ you acting like the male lead of a Nora Ephron movie?” 

“Would you stop? Mind your own business.” Peter hoped he sounded self-righteous instead of sheepish. 

“You weren’t minding _your_ own business two minutes ago,” 

After Harry proclaimed that he was done with relationships, Peter didn’t really know how to proceed from there. But one thing was certain: he obviously shouldn’t declare his undying love _now_. He needed a new plan. And a way out of this interrogation. 

_Eureka!_

“I haven’t paid my rent yet!” Peter exclaimed in faux distress, “I’ve got my job back and I’m _still_ living in the Osborn Mansion for free!” 

Harry granted him a condescending look, “It’s a penthouse in Manhattan. You wouldn’t be able to afford the rent with or without a job. _And_ you’re still sleeping on the landlord’s bedroom floor – that calls for extra rent.” 

Wasn’t Harry supposed to be _nice_ to him now? Peter couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. And hurt. Fine, his pride was _bruised_. How could his one true love hurt him so? 

Harry continued unfeelingly. “Not to mention, since when do family members pay each other rent?” 

“Since mankind are consumed by greed and…” 

Peter realized what Harry just said. He stared at Harry in stunned silence. Happy, stunned silence, because Harry had also given him the not insulting but still condescending _You’re just being ridiculous_ look as if the sheer idea of Peter paying him rents was absurd. Peter would take _that_ particular breed of condescending any day. 

Harry waited a whole five seconds before getting impatient again. “You’re surprised?” he questioned Peter’s wide-eyed stare, “I told you _many_ times that you’re my family.” 

Peter shook himself out of the shock. “But those were before –” he lowered his voice even more, “ _You know._ I didn’t dare presume I’m back in your good graces enough to be considered family by you again.” His voice sounded a little weird at the end. He cleared his throat self-consciously. Damn, this whole evening was making him so embarrassingly emotional. First Bill, then Harry, then Bill, and now Harry again. 

Unlike before, Harry didn’t roll his eyes or sigh in irritation. He gave him a frown that was somehow warm. “Well, you _are_ my family. So shut up about the rent bullshit.” 

For the first time in his heroic, altruistic life, Peter wanted to kiss his best friend. He really, really wanted to. 

Harry was then called away by another acquaintance of his, so the interrogation was finally over for now and the rest of the evening went by peacefully. In the end, the Mayor concluded the gala with a speech and thanked everyone for attending. Peter was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home and drop unconscious on his beloved mattress. 

This wasn’t the first time he called the Mansion _home_. 

“C’mon, Peter,” Harry showed up next to him, “Time to go home.” 

And it wasn’t the first time Harry called it _their_ home. 

-:- 

It was freezing when they stepped outside with the departing crowd. It snowed the day before, making the temperature extra low. Peter winced as the ice cold wind hit him square in the face the moment he left the warm air conditioning of the building. Harry stood next to him, not even batting an eye. Then Peter remembered the Goblin serum gave him not only superior strength, eyesight, hearing and agility, but also better tolerance of extreme temperatures. 

The radioactive spider was an irresponsible dick. Why didn’t it think of giving _Peter_ better temperature tolerance, too? Arachnids were so selfishly lazy these days. 

But all that aside, Harry in his black (Peter wasn’t even surprised anymore) overcoat really looked, well, almost regal. Peter suspected he was just being lovesick and biased. 

They were waiting on the steps for Tim to drive the car over. Peter smiled fondly at the memory of exiting the car after Harry when they arrived at the gala that evening. Sure, he was a big shot as Spider-Man and everyone loved him, but that was the first time _Peter Parker_ was considered a big shot, because apparently if you arrived with a business big shot like Harry, you were considered Important and Worthy of Respect. It was pretty glamorous. Now he knew why so many people wanted to be celebrities. 

Tires screeched obnoxiously as a strange black and green car swerved near the wide sidewalk. Peter suddenly knew what was happening. Before he could act, the car’s door swung open and the driver grabbed a gray-haired fifty-something man, one of the rich and powerful-looking guests also waiting for their chauffeurs, into the car, all without the car stopping. The man didn’t even have time to yelp before the car door was slammed shut and the oddly colored car sped away fast. 

The crowd were in a frenzy. Some people screamed, some gasped, some yelled for someone to call the police. 

Spider-Man was already swinging after the kidnapper. He hadn’t had time to tell Harry he was going after the bastard, but hopefully his friend would easily figure out what his sudden disappearance meant. 

The kidnapper had just run two red lights and almost hit an elderly lady. Peter swung as fast as he could after the car, which was speeding at an almost impossible (and obviously illegal) speed. The weird car was one of those “tricked out” cars. It was black but had outrageous giant, green exhaust pipes sticking out of its sides like those punk cars in the movies. The noises its engines made were simply infuriating. Showoff. 

When he finally caught up with the vehicle, he leapt and landed on the hood with a loud _thump_. The kidnapper, a race car driver wannabe wearing a pretentious all-black racing suit complete with an equally pretentious all-black racing helmet, cursed in shock (“What the –?!”) but managed not to swerve the car in surprise. The kidnapped guy was in the back, hands duct taped together and looking very frightened. 

Peter smashed the windshield with one punch, and he was going to deliver his clever automobile pun-filled comment when he stopped abruptly. And simply stared. 

“You’ve got _bobble-heads_?! Of _ME_?!” 

There were at least _eight_ Spider-Man bobble-heads on the dashboard. 

The kidnapper replied happily, “And air-fresheners. And dashboard figures. Dude, you name it. I’m your biggest fan!” 

Before Peter could assure himself this wasn’t one of his narcissistic dreams, the kidnapper held up a Sharpie, “Say, could you sign some of my stuff?” 

“Sure, I’d lo – NO!” Peter said firmly, more to himself than to the kidnapper. “Tell you what, how ’bout you let that nice gentleman go and turn yourself in to the police? I’ll sign as many of your stuff as you want.” 

The kidnapper actually considered as he kept on driving. 

Just to sweeten the deal: “And we’ll even take a picture together.” 

The kidnapper’s inner struggle looked painful. 

“ _And_ I’ll sign the picture, too.” 

The kidnapper struggled internally for another whole minute before finally making up his mind. 

“Nope. Boss would kill me.” He pressed a button. 

Peter yelped in pain as he got electrocuted and thrown off the speeding vehicle completely. He managed to shoot webbing out in time to stick it onto the car’s rear bumper and he held onto the webbing for dear life. Around him (and the car), cars honked, tires screeched, police sirens wailed. Peter nearly got hit by other cars. Twice. 

“Hey! _Slow down_ , will ya?!” He shouted as he narrowly avoided another passing car. 

Turned out Knight Rider here had a supervillain name, too. And just as cheesy: Overdrive. Peter found out about this as he was dragged behind the vehicle only because this _Overdrive_ loved announcing his name to the world: “ _Overdrive_ comin’ through!”, “Out of the way, losers! Make way for _Overdrive_!” 

Peter had been inching towards the car via moving along the webbing with his hands. It was difficult and dangerously easy for his hands to slip since Overdrive was trying his hardest to shake Spidey off. Or slam him into oncoming traffic. Jerkass. 

Peter was finally close enough. He flipped onto the car’s rear and crashed his fist through the back window. The kidnapped guy stared at him in shock and relief. Peter didn’t have time to explain – who knew when he’d get electrocuted _again_? – and pulled the man out. 

“God bless you, Spider-Man,” the man breathed once he was on the car’s rear with Peter. Peter was flattered the guy had so much faith in him when he wasn’t even out of danger yet. Peter quickly ripped the duct tape off his bound hands. 

“Hang on to me!” said Peter urgently as he put an arm around the man’s middle. The man immediately did as told and Peter slung a string of webbing onto a nearby building and swung them both off the dangerous car. 

Peter landed them safely on the sidewalk. Reporters and police quickly swarmed around them. 

“Senator Silva! Do you have any comment on this attempted abduction?” 

“Senator, do you think your political rivals are behind this abduction?” 

The police shoved the enthusiastic reporters back and asked the guy, Senator Silva, to let the medical staff check him over for injuries. 

Well, the senator seemed to be in good hands. But New York City wasn’t. Not when Overdrive was still at large. 

Peter swiftly got back into the sky and swung after his crazy, speeding fanboy. Too bad his super fan had to be a supervillain, too. Life just wasn’t fair sometimes. 

Upon aerial observation, Overdrive was heading towards the Brooklyn Bridge. Peter swung ahead and took in the road conditions. He quickly concluded which route Overdrive must be intending to take since that was the only one without any traffic at this time of day. Fine, without _heavy_ traffic; this was still New York, after all. Peter got ahead of the black-green punk car and he did something he didn’t really expect himself to ever do. 

He spun a web. And not one of those horizontal webs where he used to catch fallen people or create romantic atmosphere for he and Mary Jane’s park dates, either. It was an honest, hardcore, vertical web that he made for the sole purpose of waiting for his prey to run into and get stuck. Great, now he sounded like a man-eating were-spider. He really needed to get some sleep. And he missed his mattress like crazy. 

It didn’t take long for Overdrive and his Crime-Mobile to show up and promptly run straight into the waiting web. Peter was slightly disturbed by the jolt of thrill he got as he witnessed his web catch and trap the punk vehicle. Was that how spiders felt whenever their webs caught something? Well, it _was_ a pretty magnificent web, so symmetrical and geometrical… Anyway. 

Overdrive cursed and swore loudly as he jumped out of the trapped car in panic. 

“ _Oh_ no you don’t,” Peter tripped the escaping criminal with a well-aimed web blob. Before Overdrive could get up, the police descended upon him. Within minutes, he was cuffed and stuffed into a police car. 

“You did it again, Spidey,” one of the officers saluted Peter reverently while the rest of the police dealt with the scene of capture and the punk car hung tangled in the giant web, “New York thanks you.” 

This, this right here, was what made everything worth it. Peter smiled behind his mask, “Just glad to be of assistance, offi –” 

A strange whirring whine. 

Peter turned his head and found the punk car transforming before his very eyes. Within seconds, the punk car was no longer black and green. Or even a punk car. It was a regular blue sedan. 

“Holy shit…” the officer murmured next to him. 

Holy _shit_. 

Peter rushed towards the police car where Overdrive was locked in. It was too late; the police car transformed with a loud whirring whine of its own. Where once was a white and blue police vehicle now stood another black and green punk car with enormous exhaust pipes – this time even with a rocket propeller on top. 

Before Peter could shoot any webbing at Crime-Mobile 2.0, it sped away as the asshole Overdrive bade all of them farewell with an obnoxious: “So long, SUCKERS!” 

Peter was so mad at himself as he swung after the new punk car. How could he think it was over?! Overdrive was a _super_ villain, so of course he had _super_ powers. Why did he think it was a good idea to leave the bastard alone in a _car_? Why didn’t he figure out the bastard’s super power _sooner_?! Of _course_ his power was to trick out vehicles! 

Interesting little power, by the way. Kind of cool, really. 

Overdrive’s brand new Crime-Mobile blazed through the streets onto the Brooklyn Bridge, and drivers scrambled to get their cars out of the way of the crazy rocket car. Just as Peter feared, the panic Overdrive caused on the bridge led to a severe collision between an SUV and a sedan. The crash left the sedan smashed under the SUV, trapping the sedan driver, a teenager. The SUV driver, a middle-aged man, got out of the car and tried to help the trapped kid. But Overdrive’s car was driving too fast to stop in time not to crash into the wreck at the middle of the bridge. 

“Shit!” Overdrive cursed as he braked the vehicle desperately, his tires piercingly screeching, but could do nothing about the momentum carrying his car forward. The SUV driver stared at the fast approaching black car in panic and fear but couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trapped kid. 

Peter was out of time. He had no time to stop Overdrive’s car with webbing. He had no time to move the wrecked SUV and get the trapped teenager out. There was only one thing he could do. 

He leapt in front of the wreck and the kid, knocking the SUV driver out of the way in the process – the guy didn’t need to die, too – and hoping against hope that he would survive this. 

Well, he knew he wasn’t going to _die_. Maybe a couple of broken ribs and other bones, but he’d live for sure. He just wished it wouldn’t hurt too much. Who was he kidding? He was using himself as a _meat shield_ against three tons of speeding metal. It was going to hurt like _hell_. He only wished he wouldn’t pass out afterwards, because that would be really embarrassing. He wished he were Superman instead, the Man of Steel and all that. 

Overdrive’s stupid car’s headlights were almost right in his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and stood firm, bracing himself for impact. Oh god oh god oh god – 

A thunderous crash of metal on metal. 

Peter snapped his eyes open and saw Crime-Mobile getting rammed off the bridge by a cab. He acted before he had time to think about what’d just happened and leapt off the bridge with the now wrecked punk car. 

After webbing Crime-Mobile and the idiot Overdrive securely to the side of the Brooklyn Bridge, Peter immediately swung back on to the bridge and landed next to the heroic cab (whose engine was unfortunately squished) to make sure the heroic cab driver was fine. 

“Hey, buddy, are you – HARRY?!” 

Peter gaped as Harry the cab driver got out of the cab, visibly shaken from the, well, self-initiated crash. 

“No, it’s Jimmy Fallon.” Harry said sarcastically as he touched his own face to ensure it was unscathed. Once he knew for sure his hundred thousand-dollar face was safe and sound, he gave Peter the stink eye again. “What were you _thinking_?” 

“What was I – what were _you_ thinking?!” Peter didn’t mean to yell, but Harry could’ve gotten himself _killed_. “Are you _crazy_?!” 

“Not as much as you, Meat Shield,” Harry crossed his arms calmly despite his post-car crash disheveled look. “Now get me outta here before somebody sees me.” 

He was right. Peter could hear police sirens in the distance, and with police came press. But first, the trapped teenager. Peter turned around and was relieved to find the poor kid, who thankfully wasn’t seriously injured, was already out of the wreck with the help of the SUV driver. 

Peter made sure both drivers would be fine and left an autograph next to an overjoyed Overdrive (he _was_ his biggest fan) before quickly putting an arm around Harry’s middle. “I thought you weren’t interested,” he couldn’t help but griped a little. Seriously, after all those no’s to Peter’s swinging invitations, look who needed swinging _now_? 

Harry didn’t even narrow his eyes. “I’m not. I just took pity on you.” 

“Riiight,” That was a lame comeback, but Peter didn’t have time to come up with something better as he leapt off the Brooklyn Bridge with Harry, swiftly swinging away under the bridge to avoid being seen. 

-:- 

This was…awkward. And wonderful. But still really awkward. Peter was honest-to-god in love with Harry and Harry was practically _in his arm_. They were pressed together. He could feel Harry _breathing_. If not for the mask, he would have been able to feel Harry’s every breath on his _face_. 

The night air was still freezing, but Peter didn’t notice at all because he was too distracted by the heady feeling of _getting pressed up together with Harry_. Harry was pretty cold to be pressed together with, to be honest, what with his many layers of thick expensive clothes, but the thought alone was enough to make his face heat up. Good thing he had his mask on, or Harry would know he was blushing like he was in high school again. 

Harry clung to Peter tightly, tense and jaw clenched and anxiously frowning, as if he was afraid he might fall to his death any minute. 

“Relax, buddy,” Peter assured him, “I’m not gonna drop you,” 

Apparently Harry could still roll his eyes regardless of how nervous and scared he was. “Ex _cuse_ me for being skeptical of your _spider web_ ,” 

Peter was offended on his perfectly fine web’s behalf, “I’ll have you know it’s strong enough to stop a runaway _train_ ,” 

“Well, I’m not a train, am I?” 

“…Harry, that doesn’t even make sense.” 

“Whatever,” 

If good ol’ swinging could get to him so easily, Peter wondered how he would feel about… 

“Hey, wanna do a front flip?” 

Harry yelped, “What?!” 

And that was exactly what Peter did. 

It was a perfect front flip, too. Definitely a 10. Okay, so _maybe_ Peter was also trying to impress Harry. 

When they were done and back to swinging, Harry was clinging and gasping like he was genuinely afraid. 

Peter realized in dismay that he’d overdone it. He wanted to _impress_ Harry, not _frighten_ him. Feeling a little guilty, he tightened his hold on his friend to try to reassure him, but he was also confused. “You’re never nervous when you’re on the Glider,” 

Harry was still panting and sounded more than a little pissed off, “Because that is a solid, reliable piece of machinery that I’ve programmed myself, genius, not some human spider web from your _wrists_.” 

Peter sighed. Of all the passengers of the Spidey Express, Harry, his soulmate, the guy he was trying to impress, just had to be the only one to hate the experience. Was it normal Harry was harder to impress than Mary Jane? Because Mary Jane had been _thrilled_ when he took her swinging for the first time and she was practically swooning afterwards. Well, of course Harry was hard to impress: he was _Harry_ , unpredictable, grumpy and paranoid. Peter was suddenly overwhelmed by doubt and despair. Could it be that he’d never really understand Harry? That he could never make Harry love him back? 

But sometimes Harry got impressed by the smallest things, too, like that one time Peter reminded him he was better than those Harvard MBAs combined, and when he got rid of the Plates assholes for him. Perhaps it wasn’t completely hopeless after all. He could do this. He could impress Harry. He could court him and woo him so hard that he would fall in love with him, too. 

Harry’s desperate clinging was kind of nice, though. It wasn’t everyday he held onto Peter like this. Correction: he’d _never_ held onto Peter like this before. Ever. Peter, although still feeling guilty and sheepish, was totally enjoying this. 

Could Harry feel his muscles and abs? Thanks to the radioactive spider, Peter was, dare he say it, _buff_ , so Harry must be able to feel it, right? Especially with the clinging, the serum-enhanced senses and the skintight Spider suit. 

But what if Harry was _completely straight_? Wait, no, he found Peter attractive, so he couldn’t be completely straight. But did he even like muscles and abs? What if he only liked Peter’s face? What if he _hated_ muscles and abs? Just like he was the only person to hate swinging, he might very well be the only person to hate muscles and abs. 

“Peter, are you _hyperventilating_?” Harry asked, exasperated. 

Was he? Oh spit. _Get a grip, Parker, stop acting like a lovesick teenager!_ “I’m just exhausted,” Peter took a few deep breaths to calm himself, “because of Overdrive and his stupid cars.” 

He never did thank Harry for saving him from a _world_ of pain. 

“And, er, thank you for the help back there.” Peter now felt like such an asshole for traumatizing Harry with the front flip earlier. “You saved my life.” 

“Nah, I just saved your ribs.” Harry was finally marginally relaxed and less tense. He’d probably got used to the swinging at last. “But you’re welcome.” 

“You know, that was the third time you helped me fight supervillains,” Peter mused, “First Flint Marko and Eddie, then Shocker, and now Overdrive.” He turned to look at Harry, who looked back at him, “ _Thank you_ , really.” He knew he sounded sentimental, but screw it. “You have no idea how much it means to me to finally not face those crooks alone.” 

Harry smiled kind of fondly, kind of warmly. Either way, it was a very nice smile. And that was another great thing about swinging with Harry: he had the perfect excuse to stare at Harry up close and personal. “Well, I can’t just let my best friend get himself killed, can I?” 

Peter _really_ wanted to kiss Harry. He wondered how soft Harry’s lips would be. 

Now he was just being creepy and pathetic, and this was even worse than when he was pining for Mary Jane. 

Then Harry had to ruin the moment. 

“ _Although,_ ” Harry’s tone sent Peter into instant Defense Mode. “If you hadn’t been a reckless lunatic, you wouldn’t have needed my help in the first place.” 

“You were the one crashing _yourself_ into Overdrive,” 

“And you were going to use yourself as a _meat shield_ ,” 

“The worst that could happen to me was a couple of broken bones, but you could’ve _died_!” 

Harry snorted, “Ye of little faith for the serum,” 

“You weren’t there,” Peter hated the sudden lump in his throat, “Well, you were, but you were _unconscious_. I had to rush you, dying, to the hospital, _twice_ , and let me tell you, you still aren’t made of steel after the serum. I had to watch you almost die…” He made himself shut up before he embarrassed himself further by sounding even more like a distressed mother. 

Harry looked at him silently, and sighed. “Sorry,” he said almost shamefacedly. 

Peter was finally able to swallow the annoying lump down, “It’s okay. Just, don’t ever do something like that again,” 

Harry felt guilty enough that he actually nodded. 

Then he just had to ruin the moment _again_. 

“I’m sorry I scared you with that stunt I pulled, but I’m not sorry I did it, because _someone_ left me with no choice.” 

_You’ve got to be kidding me._ Peter couldn’t believe Harry’s one-track mind; after all this emotional outpouring, he _still_ wanted to talk about Peter’s “recklessness”, as if Peter had ever done anything reckless in his life. 

Peter sighed loudly, just to make sure Harry heard it. 

“What,” Harry snapped immediately, “You think _I’m_ not worried about _you_ all the time?” 

“…You’re worried about me all the time?” 

“As usual, you’re missing the point,” Harry said quickly, too quickly, which spoke volumes to Peter, “The point is, _you_ shouldn’t do something like _that_ ever again.” 

Peter huffed. “I’ll only promise that if _you_ promise you wouldn’t do something like **_that_** ever again.” 

They really should stop with the meaningful, pointed emphases. It was getting confusing. 

“Only you can make a conversation about _you_ become one about _me_ ,” Harry was clearly exasperated, but he actually looked a tiny bit flattered, too. Well, he should be – Peter had been nothing but hopelessly preoccupied with him for the past couple of hours. Then he gave Peter a challenging, obnoxious look. “Fine,” 

“ _Fine,_ ” like Peter was ever going to back down from a challenge like that. 

They both knew Peter would just keep doing what he thought was necessary to protect the fine residents of New York, and Harry would just keep doing what _he_ thought was necessary to keep Peter alive. Somehow that was good enough for them both. Peter wondered why they even had this argument in the first place. 

_Because we really do care about each other._ And it just served to make him want to kiss Harry more. Jeez. 

The Osborn Mansion was suddenly in sight in all its classy, foreboding glory. Harry let out a relieved sigh as they landed on solid rooftop. Peter was more than a little disappointed that their impromptu swinging “date” ended so soon. They were in the rooftop garden – one of the many perks of owning a penthouse – and Harry led them to the door leading back inside the mansion. 

Peter wanted this moment to last. As soon as they were back inside, Harry would get on the phone again, and Peter would probably just pass out on his lovely mattress. 

“Where did you get the cab?” Peter asked as he took off his mask. It _was_ a question he’d been wondering about. 

Harry stopped in his track, “When you disappeared and Spider-Man showed up, I told Tim to drive the car home. And I bought the cab off of a cab driver on the street.” 

“…Why?” 

“Because that ‘Overdrive’ guy obviously got a car chase-complex, and you might be in trouble, and I didn’t feel like wrecking my dad’s Rolls-Royce.” 

“But you didn’t even know I might be in trouble.” 

Harry shrugged. “Better safe than sorry, right? Besides, no offence, Peter, but you’re _always_ in trouble.” 

“It’s not my fault I’m heroic and altruistic,” 

“Right,” 

“Wait.” Peter could feel himself getting emotional again. Damn it. Being secretly in love with your best friend was so hard. “So you _bought_ a _taxi_ from a random taxi driver just because I _might_ be in trouble?” 

“I told you, you’re _always_ in trou –” 

Before Peter could stop himself, he stepped forward and hugged Harry. Harry stiffened at first, but then relaxed and patted him on the back brotherly, like how they used to. 

Peter reminded himself not to get too clingy (or cheesy) and pulled back to look at Harry, “It means the world to me, buddy. Spider-Man has always been alone. He faces everything by himself.” He swallowed, “After M.J. found out about Spidey, I was so relieved to finally have someone to talk to about it, but what you give me is even more than that. M.J. listened and gave me advice. You did all that and actually fought them _with_ me. For the first time, Spider-Man has a _partner_.” 

Harry looked at him strangely, “…You’re welcome?” 

For some unfathomable reason, Harry didn’t seem particularly moved. In fact, he looked almost like he was weirded out. Hold on. The slightly judgmental staring, the cautious frown – he was definitely weirded out! Peter gave an inward sigh. Was he being too cheesy? Probably. Wooing Mary Jane was so much easier. 

But Peter was still happy, so he decided to finally dilute the cheesiness overload. “We could be like Batman and Robin! The dynamic duo!” 

Harry was back in his element again instantly. He snorted. “I have a company to run, genius. I don’t have time for superhero bullshit. And there’s no way in hell I’d be your _sidekick_.” 

“Robin’s not a sidekick,” Peter reminded him patronizingly, “He’s Batman’s partner. They’re equals.” 

“That doesn’t even matter, because now that I think about it, _I’m_ obviously Batman.” Harry crossed his arms smugly, “I’m all black and you’re the guy in a brightly colored costume.” 

“Harry, you’re hilarious. Who’s the veteran crime-fighter between the two of us? Though you do have Alfred…” 

“Oh no, oh no you don’t. Leave Bernard out of this, you stereotyping bastard. You know what, I don’t even wanna be that loser Bruce Wayne who doesn’t give a shit about his own company.” 

“How can you say that?! He’s too busy saving Gotham City!” 

“Why are we still talking about this? Batman’s all yours, go ahead, I don’t want him.” 

There was an awkward pause before they burst out laughing. 

“That was wrong on so many levels,” Peter gasped out between laughter. 

“I didn’t know we had it in us to both go after _Batman_ ,” Harry tried to make himself stop laughing, but was still snorting in laughter uncontrollably. 

Eventually, they did manage to stop their immature laughing at an immature joke. Harry cleared his throat, “Seriously, though, I do have a company to run, and I really don’t have time for superhero bullshit.” 

Peter rolled his eyes, “As if I’d let you put yourself in danger on a daily basis,” Every once in a while to get Peter out of a tight spot? Fine. Every single day? _Never_. 

Harry approved and nodded, “Because Oscorp’s stock price can’t take another hit,” 

“Because _I care about you_ ,” Sometimes Harry’s obsession with Oscorp bordered on unhealthy. 

Harry’s eyes widened a bit at the open declaration of caring. Then he looked away again, made an excuse of having a phone call to make and quickly escaped back into the Mansion. It might be dark, but Peter’s eyes saw it clear as day: Harry’s ears had flushed red. 

-:- 

Peter, completely exhausted, passed out on his beloved mattress immediately after he took a shower and changed into his pajamas. When he woke up, it was almost lunchtime the next day. Well, it _was_ winter break and Sunday, so it was only appropriate that he slept the morning away. 

Peter sat up in his nest of pillows, blankets and covers contently and looked around. Harry’s bed was empty and appeared untouched, as usual, as if his friend hadn’t even slept in it the night before, but Peter knew Harry had simply got up early and made his bed. 

Pining was never fun. Now that he knew he was in love with Harry, he just wanted to see him all the time. He hoped his friend hadn’t gone to the Oscorp Building or somewhere equally depressing. It was a Sunday, after all. 

When Peter went downstairs, he heard Harry (surprise, surprise) talking on the phone in his study, and then he was greeted by the unexpected but incredibly charming sight of Bernard and Charlie putting up Christmas decorations together. 

“Good morning, Mr. Parker,” Bernard greeted brightly, and Charlie rolled over to Peter, holding a pretty blue glass ornament between his scythes. The robot stopped in front of Peter, whistled cheerfully, and dropped the ornament. 

What the heck?! 

It was intentional, it was blatantly intentional. Did Charlie catch a virus? 

Peter managed to catch the ornament before it could tragically shatter on the floor. “What is _with_ you?!” he demanded of the crazy mantis. 

Charlie just did his bizarre robo-laugh and rolled back to Bernard’s side. To Peter’s dismay, not only did Bernard _not_ reprimand Charlie, he actually patted the mantis on the head fondly. This proved that even robots could be spoiled rotten. 

Peter was going to put the glass ornament down when he noticed he was actually standing right next to the Christmas tree. It was a very nice tree, too. Though as of yet undecorated, it was tall and regal. 

Peter looked at the tree, then looked at the blue ornament in his hand, then looked at the tree again. _Oh._ Charlie really was a sweetheart. Though he still needed to work on his prankster complex. 

Well, Peter wasn’t really hungry for breakfast, and they would have lunch soon, anyway. 

-:- 

“What do you think?” Peter asked Harry eagerly as his friend inspected the half-decorated Christmas tree while Bernard and Charlie prepared lunch. 

“Half-finished,” said Harry drily. 

“Of course it’s half-finished,” Peter said patronizingly because being patronizing to patronizing assholes like Harry was very fulfilling, “So you can do the other half.” 

Harry offered a sarcastic smile, “Why would I do that?” 

“Because you _love_ Christmas trees.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do. I remember how in love you were with them when we were kids.” 

“Exactly. _Kids_.” 

“Oh, Harry,” Peter sighed in melodramatic sympathy, “I understand your insecurity and your need to reassure yourself of your ‘tough guy’ image,” 

Harry snorted, “Says the guy wearing tights every day,” 

Peter pfft’d. “Ladies happen to appreciate my muscular physique. Anyway, you can’t just fall out of love with _Christmas trees_.” 

“Why the hell not?” 

“Because they’re _Christmas trees_.” 

“You know where to find me when you start to make more sense,” And Harry rudely picked up the Sunday newspaper and began reading. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “You were still in love with Christmas trees last Christmas. What happened? Are you cheating on them with Christmas wreaths?” 

Harry lowered the _Wall Street Journal_ and gave him a stern glare, “What Christmas wreaths and I do in private is none of your business.” 

He even said it with a straight face, completely serious. 

Peter snorted in suppressed mirth, then he just gave up and laughed. Harry _joked_ with him now. _Wow._

Harry didn’t laugh with him, but he did look rather pleased with himself. 

“Seriously, though,” Peter persisted after he was done laughing, “Why _not_?” 

Harry grunted in annoyance. “I’m just not in the mood,” then he resumed reading newspaper. 

He looked stressed out. Very stressed out. Peter didn’t like seeing his one true love so stressed out. 

“You know,” he ventured, “I heard tell decorating Christmas trees could be very relaxing, take your mind off things.” 

Harry lowered the newspaper again in irritation, “You just don’t give up, do you?” 

“Nope.” 

Harry heaved out a loud dramatic sigh. “ _Fine_. After dinner.” 

If Peter could high-five himself, he would. 

-:- 

After dinner, Peter helped Bernard and Charlie put up the last of the decorations in the living room. It was fun and made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It cleared his mind, too, because he finally made up his mind about what he would do about his Harry Thing when he was hanging up the Christmas stockings along the fireplace mantel. They were very inspiring stockings. 

Harry said he was done with romance, but if Peter had learned anything from the couple of weeks he’d spent with his friend, it was Harry rarely knew what he really wanted. Just like Peter had asked, how would he know his next relationship wouldn’t turn out to be beautiful? Especially because his next relationship would be with the one and only Spider-Man, if Peter’s plan came through. 

Here was the plan, the result of countless hours of careful deliberation: 

Woo Harry. 

Brilliant, right? No wonder he was a future Nobel laureate. 

He would woo Harry and rock his world. Considering even the fair Mary Jane Watson eventually got together with him, he thought his chances were pretty good. But he must proceed slowly and carefully since he wouldn’t want to spook Harry. No. It must be a gradual process. Given Harry’s unpredictable nature, it would be pointless to chart out every step exactly, but the general direction of the plan was thus: woo Harry whilst subtly flirt with Harry and gauge Harry’s reaction; if Harry’s reciprocation of his feelings could be confirmed, he would confess his affection. Ideally, he’d woo Harry so hard that Harry would confess _his_ affection first, thereby saving Peter the embarrassment of awkwardly confessing his love. In the unfortunate event that Harry wasn’t romantically interested in him, well, _woo harder_. There, he’d covered every possible scenario. 

Speaking of the guy, wasn’t he supposed to decorate the other half of the Christmas tree after dinner? 

Peter eyed Harry, who was reading something on his black laptop on the couch nearby. Peter couldn’t help but exchange a smile with Bernard: Harry used to stay in his study all day, now he actually made a point of staying near his family. Peter dreamily recalled the wondrous moment when Harry proclaimed him his _family_ again the night before. He really did love the guy. 

“What are you working on, buddy?” Peter asked when he noticed Harry’s deep frown at the laptop screen. 

“Looking at the Annual Letter to Shareholders and the Annual Report,” Harry said without looking up, still frowning, “These were sent out a month ago, and I need to make sure I remember every single word in them.” 

Peter frowned, “Why the frown, though?” 

Harry looked up at him, tense and worried, “The balance sheet and income statement are embarrassing. Only the cash flow statement is relatively presentable.” 

Peter hoped his cheerful smile and cheerful self-deprecation could cheer Harry up, “You lost me at ‘balance sheet’.” 

Harry studied him briefly, and then smiled a little, “Thanks for trying, buddy.” He went back to frowning at the screen, but he did look marginally less depressed. 

Peter knew what would cheer him up for real. 

“Just so you know…” 

Harry looked up at him again. 

“It’s _after dinner_ now, and you said…” Peter gestured the still half-finished Christmas tree with a dramatic sweep of his hand. Then he added hastily at Harry’s calculating gaze at the tree, “Unless, of course, you’re not done with your sheets and statements yet!” 

“I’m done, actually,” Harry closed the lid of his laptop and put it on the coffee table, “I memorized the whole thing before we sent them out. I was just making sure I hadn’t got anything wrong.” 

Harry got to his feet and walked over to the waiting Christmas tree. He studied the tree beside Peter, “Any suggestions?” 

Peter shrugged, “Whatever you want, I guess. There’s no pattern or anything like that. I’m not an artist.” 

“I don’t know…” Harry glanced at him, “You kind of are.” 

Peter perked up, “Really?” 

Harry turned his attention back to the tree, “You’re extremely well-versed in the art of Spreading Cheer, Christmas or otherwise.” 

Peter stared at Harry. “Was that…a compliment?” 

Harry shrugged, obviously trying for nonchalant but appearing self-conscious instead, “Just stating the truth.” 

Peter grinned. Harry would even give compliments now. They were almost like real best friends again. 

Peter turned back to the tree happily. It was truly a very nice tree; fake but looked very real. “I think people should just buy fake Christmas trees like us. Fewer trees would get chopped off for no legitimate reasons. More environmentally friendly.” 

Harry arched an eyebrow at him, “That sounds _awesome_. Why don’t you go hug a tree?” 

The jibe was friendly with no malice behind, so Peter didn’t take offense. 

“Are you calling me a tree hugger?” 

“Aren’t you?” 

“Well, I’m a spider,” 

“So you hug trees for a living,” 

“Exactly,” 

Harry chuckled lightly, “That, was lame,” 

“You started it,” Peter informed him helpfully. 

“I know.” 

“And we’ve been standing here _not_ -decorating the tree for the last five minutes,” 

“Shut up.” 

As Peter put ornaments on the Christmas tree with Harry, he still couldn’t quite believe conversing with Harry as equals was in fact _normal_ now. Thinking about all those scary passive-aggressive talks they had before, Peter was amazed at how far he’d come, how far they’d _both_ come. He still wanted to kiss Harry. Would it be magical if he kissed Harry in front of the Christmas tree? Would it be magical if they kissed under the mistletoe? Wait, there was no mistletoes here in the Mansion. _Better not get ahead of yourself, Parker._ He reminded himself sternly and refocused his attention on the tree. 

-:- 

“You really are done with your work, huh?” Peter, sitting on his lovely mattress, said in wonder as Harry left the bathroom after brushing his teeth. “I mean, you’re usually talking on the phone or in your study when I go to bed. Mattress. When I go to mattress.” 

Harry smiled wryly in grudging amusement, then said, “This occurrence is an outlier, so exclude it from the data set.” 

Peter sniggered. “Nerd,” 

Harry held up his head haughtily, “Proudly so. _Nerd._ ” 

Peter shot back good-humoredly, “ _Proudly so._ ” 

They were done with all the decorations, and the Mansion now looked like one of those pretty, Christmassy houses in the movies; its nice, elegant structures definitely helped. It looked cozy, too. Who’d have thought Peter would ever call the formerly creepy, cold Osborn Mansion _cozy_? 

Peter mused happily as he began to change into his pajamas. After he pulled his shirt off over his head, he saw Harry, already in his pajamas, staring at him awkwardly. He was staring at his abs. 

So Harry didn’t hate abs. What a relief. 

_Quick, Parker, **woo** him._

“See something you like?” Peter winked jokingly, sincerely hoping he came off as harmlessly flirtatious instead of obnoxious. 

Harry promptly snapped out of his daze. He tried to look unimpressed and rolled his eyes for good measure, “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

The he awkwardly got into his bed and turned his back on Peter, saying curtly, “Good night.” 

The lamp on the nightstand was still on, so Peter saw it even clearer this time: Harry’s ears were red again. 

Woo-O-Meter: 50 of 100 

-:- 

Peter actually liked Mondays during winter break; when everyone else was groggy and unhappy about having to go to work, _he_ , as a student, was thoroughly enjoying his break. There was just something very appealing about having fun while everybody else was working. 

Well, he wasn’t exactly ‘having fun’. He was patrolling. But there was always a visible drop in crime rate immediately after a major skirmish between good and evil, so right now, two days after the little excitement on Saturday night, he once again found himself brooding on top of the Chrysler Building. 

How was Aunt May? Probably enjoying the California sunshine. Would she be tanned when she got back? Peter hoped she’d put on enough sunscreen. He had heard disturbing tales of California-style sunburns. Maybe he should call her to make sure she was fine. 

And what was Harry doing? Probably doing business stuff in his office. Poor guy. The Shareholder Meeting was next week, and he must be panicking right now. 

Well, it was Peter’s sacred duty as Harry’s wooer to ensure his happiness. That, and he just kind of missed his best friend. He hadn’t seen him in _hours_. 

When Peter landed on his spot above Harry’s windows – was it weird he’d visited the Oscorp Building so many times that he had his own spot now? – he promptly heard a guy talking loudly and angrily. Threateningly, even. Was his soulmate in danger?! 

“How _dare_ you, Harry?” the angry man yelled, “You think Energy can survive _without_ me?” 

“I think,” Harry replied, calm and authoritative, “that we’re trying to climb out of this shithole, and you’re the anchor dragging us down. But don’t worry, Jonas, you’re still getting your year-end bonus.” 

Jonas the angry guy started yelling again. “It’s not _my_ fault the division’s losing money!” 

Harry was still composed, “I know you inherited a mess, but it’s been two years. And things only got _worse_ since I gave you this position. But you’re right: it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I never should have hired you, and I compounded my mistake by not firing you sooner.” 

Oh dear god. Harry was _firing_ Jonas. Oh, no… Peter felt so sorry for him. Getting fired was not only painful, but also humiliating. 

“You’ll regret this – I will tell Jim Plates everything!” Jonas was back to threatening again. 

Okay, now Peter felt significantly less sorry for him. _C’mon, you can’t actually **threaten** your boss. That’s just not nice._ Begging and groveling was understandable, but outright threatening was taking it a step too far. Not to mention Jonas was threatening his one true love. 

“Be my guest,” Harry was unflappable, “By the time it reaches willing ears, your information will have become obsolete.” 

Jonas simply wouldn’t give up. “You’re a monster!” he finally shouted, “Your dad was a monster, too!” 

Now that was too much. Didn’t the asshole know that was a _sensitive_ subject? Wait, actually…he really didn’t. Still, what a jerk. 

Harry still didn’t react to any of it, “Eddie, kindly escort Jonas back to his desk and then out the building.” 

“Yes, sir,” Eddie, probably a security guard, said solemnly. 

And then all Peter could hear was Eddie manhandling Jonas out the office while Jonas threw more insults at Harry. 

When the door was finally closed and everything was quiet again, Harry sighed tiredly. Peter quickly crawled into view. Sure enough, Harry, seated at his desk, was looking at him already. He always knew when Peter arrived. 

“Hey, buddy,” Peter inquired gently, “You okay?” 

Harry heaved out another sigh, “It’s almost Christmas, but it needed to be done.” 

Peter frowned in worry, “That comment about…” 

“Me and my dad?” Harry finished for him easily, surprisingly not at all upset about it, “I feel sorry for Jonas, actually. He had nothing substantial to say and had to resort to name-calling.” 

Harry was taking all this really well. Peter admired how sure he was of himself and his dad, past homicidal tendencies notwithstanding. 

To make Harry feel better, Peter decided to resort to name-calling as well. “That Jonas guy is such an asshole,” 

Harry’s lips quirked into a small smile, “That he is, buddy, that he is.” Then he stood up and walked over to the windows, his demeanor friendly, “By the way, to what do I owe the pleasure?” 

He wasn’t even being sarcastic. 

Oh, Peter was liking this. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing,” 

“Of course you did,” Harry inclined his head in acknowledgement, no sarcasm, no snark. Peter could totally get behind this refreshing lack of hostility from Harry about his office visits. 

And Harry looked _nice_ smiling, his one good eye all bright and dark in perfect contrast. 

“Hey, I just noticed,” Peter observed, “You haven’t worn your glasses in a while,” 

“Nope,” confirmed Harry as he returned to his desk, “And neither have you. Wonder why that is.” 

Peter felt a little stupid, “Serum. Right.” 

Harry looked at him curiously, “What brought this up?” 

_I was checking your eyes out._ “Nothing!” Did that sound flustered? That sounded flustered. Crap. 

Harry didn’t push it. He just hmm’d and gave Peter a speculative look before turning his attention to his laptop and documents. 

That was close. Phew. As Peter watched Harry work, he inevitably began observing his friend again. 

Harry really was good-looking. And Peter was obviously biased, but no matter. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder, after all. 

“Am I distracting you?” he mused aloud, because Harry could be working on something important, like a, like a _contract_. 

Harry looked up at him, “Not really. I have accepted the reality that you just love hanging out on my windows.” 

It was said jokingly, so Peter joked back. “Well, this _is_ top-notch glass,” 

Harry indulgently smiled, shaking his head. “I gotta say, Peter, I’m starting to like these impromptu visits of yours.” 

It was a good thing they were separated by glass, or Peter would have jumped him. 

Woo-O-Meter: 60 

-:- 

When Harry got home in the evening, Peter was, geez, reading the _Wall Street Journal_ , because they really didn’t have anything else. Charlie was happily watching a documentary of the insect world on _National Geographic_. He was especially enthusiastic about the part where a mantis dueled with a black widow spider and then ate it. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Peter accused the crossbow. 

Charlie just played his “cute” card and gave an innocent chirp. 

“Grow up, guys,” Harry shook his head at both human and crossbow before going upstairs. 

When he came back down, he had changed into casual clothes and was holding something red and blue in his hand. 

“Is that…” Peter squinted at the little object, “a miniature _Spider-Man plushie_?” 

Harry handed the thing to him, “A miniature Spider-Man plushie _fridge magnet_. Someone was selling these near Oscorp Building’s front entrance.” 

“Wow…” Peter studied the small plushie in awe, “Spidey actually looks cute. But why make it a fridge magnet?” 

Harry shrugged. “So the mini-you can climb refrigerators like the real-you can climb buildings?” 

“That’s,” Peter was impressed, as in really impressed, “smart. Very smart.” 

“Exactly why I bought one,” said Harry as he patted Charlie on the head and went into the dining room. 

Peter studied his mini-self in appreciation and brought it to the kitchen where Bernard was busy preparing dinner. With care, he put his mini-self against the refrigerator door. A soft _clang_ , and the magnet stayed. 

Peter stood back and admired the sight of his mini-self on the refrigerator. Just like how his real-self would climb a skyscraper. Whoever designed this truly was a genius. 

Then it hit him: Harry had bought a souvenir of _him_. 

Granted, Harry could’ve just bought it because he appreciated the cleverness, or he’d simply wanted to show Peter this well-designed merchandise of him. But _still_ …when you bought a souvenir of something, you usually liked the real thing a whole lot, right? 

Did that mean Harry love him, too? At least a little? 

…Pining was hard. 

Woo-O-Meter: 62 

-:- 

Harry excused himself right after dinner. Probably another phone call. What else was new. Peter wandered off while Bernard and Charlie cleaned up the dining room and kitchen. The mansion was big enough for a decent after-meal stroll, and Peter’s thoughts strayed to his object of affection once again. 

What was Harry doing right now? Was he tired? Did he think of Peter as much as Peter thought of him? 

Peter huffed. This was getting ridiculous. He was disgusting even himself. He stopped to see where he’d wandered off to. 

He was standing right in the middle of the hallway outside Harry’s study. 

Ugh. Great. Now even his feet were just as embarrassingly smitten. 

Just as he was gonna go back the way he came, he couldn’t help but notice Harry’s study, judging from what he saw through the open door, was actually dark with no Harry Osborn inside. 

Where did Harry go? It was obviously none of Peter’s business, but he was going to _make_ it his business anyway. Anything could have happened to Harry! He could’ve been kidnapped, or, or worse! 

Within seconds, Peter managed to work himself into a panic. 

He forced himself to calm down. This was Harry’s home. The guy could be anywhere. He had no obligation to stay in his study all the time. Just to be safe, though, Peter decided to locate his friend. 

As he walked further along the hallway, his ears picked up on the faint sound of an electric spark. It couldn’t be Charlie; he was with Bernard in the kitchen. Then Peter heard three more sparks in quick succession. Huh. Sounded like someone was doing some tinkering with electronics. 

Peter followed the sounds to a closed door. He mentally prepared himself as he swung the door open. It could be a burglar, a bomber, or – 

Just Harry. 

Peter sighed in relief at the sight of his friend working on something electronic on a workbench. 

Harry looked up and raised an eyebrow at him. “Why do you look like you just escaped from a horror movie?” 

“I thought you were a bomber getting your bomb ready to blow this place up.” 

Harry sighed. “Peter, I told you, that kind of stuff rarely happens in real life. And, if it makes you feel better, this place has its own security system, enhanced by yours truly,” he proudly added. 

Peter gulped. By _Harry_ himself? “Does it…have auto-guns?” 

“No,” Harry said with a disgruntled frown, “They’re unfortunately and _unreasonably_ illegal.” 

“But you built those…you know, _Goblin_ stuff, anyway. I bet they’re even more illegal.” 

“The Osborn Mansion Security System has to be registered with the government, but _those_ are secret technology.” 

Peter couldn’t help but tease a little, “So you’re a vigilante.” 

Harry sniffed, “I’m a guy pissed off with life in general.” He turned back to the little electronic something he’d been working on, “So, you’re here to make sure I’m not a mad bomber?” 

“Yeah,” Peter, now relaxed, studied the spacious workshop he was in with interest, “You weren’t in your study, so I got worried. Then I heard someone doing electronic stuff,” 

“And here you are,” Harry finished for him, “I’m touched you care about me and the mansion’s wellbeing so much, but next time? Just call my cellphone, or have faith in the Security System and take it easy. It’s winter break, remember?” 

It was indeed. But still…it wasn’t like Peter could just stop worrying about the person he loved. Right. He probably should woo Harry now, too. 

“But I can’t help wanting to make sure you’re okay,” he said in what he hoped was a casually dashing way. 

Harry chuckled as if he was supremely amused. _Definitely_ not the reaction Peter was hoping for. “I almost killed _you_ , didn’t I? I would worry about the lousy loser that _dares_ enter my territory uninvited if I were you, buddy.” 

Okaaay, now Harry was feeling good about himself. _SO_ definitely not the reaction Peter was hoping for. Nothing wrong with Harry appreciating how badass he was, but could he, maybe, perhaps, appreciate _Peter_ , too? Why was wooing Harry so _hard_? Mary Jane was like an angel in comparison. Well, she actually was an angel, so there was that. He wouldn’t want Harry to be more like M.J. – he loved him just the way he was, warts and all – but he really wished Harry could be more helpful, more cooperative in his wooing endeavor. 

Frustrated, Peter took another look around the workshop to distract himself, “So this is your workshop, huh?” It was big, full of tools and electronic parts, yet neat and tidy. Except for the tools and parts currently being used on the workbench, everything else was methodically arranged. Peter couldn’t help a fond smile. _So Harry._

Harry grunted in confirmation, “Where Charlie was born,” 

Peter was honestly impressed. And honestly amused to see more than a few objects bearing Oscorp’s logo. Oscorp pencil, Oscorp pen, Oscorp eraser, Oscorp ruler, Oscorp notebook, Oscorp calendar, Oscorp planner! He bet there were even more in Harry’s study, maybe even Oscorp water bottles! The _Bugle_ sometimes handed out excess company swags like these to employees, too, but nobody had taken them more seriously and with more pride than Harry did with the Oscorp ones. Commitment. Once again Peter found himself desperately wishing he could kiss his best friend. 

He spotted an Oscorp mug nearby. It was dark blue and had “BOSS” printed on it in big white letters. 

“Nice mug,” he commented pleasantly. 

“Present from Joe last Christmas.” Harry didn’t even look up, attention completely on the small gizmo where he was now doing the wiring. 

It was remarkable, really, to watch Harry build something in person. Peter was a genius, but Harry wasn’t too bad himself. 

“What are you building?” he asked curiously. 

“ _That_ ,” Harry actually looked up with a smug smile, “Is for me to know, and for you to find out.” 

Peter played along cheerfully, his interest piqued, “Secretive, are we?” 

“Precisely.” He kept his smile, but then turned solemn, “Now get out of here.” He promptly shooed Peter out of the workshop. How rude. 

When Harry finally deigned to leave the workshop and find Peter, Peter was listening to the police radio in the guest room. It was, once again, a quiet night. Peter was tempted to call it a _Silent Night_ , but that would just be too cheesy even for him. 

Peter looked up when Harry sat down next to him on the guest room bed. 

“Done with the super-secret project?” Peter joked good-naturedly. 

Instead of answering, Harry smugly produced a small sophisticated device before Peter. Peter carefully inspected the little gizmo in Harry’s hand. Well, it looked distinctly like… 

“An earpiece?” Peter ventured. 

“You’re welcome,” said Harry, still excessively smug about the whole thing, “Now you can check your police radio whenever you want – on patrol, in class, whatever.” 

Peter grinned, “ _And_ I can call you even when I’m out there swinging, even during a fight!” 

Harry shrugged, “Sure, if you want. Now take it already.” 

_I love you._ Peter thought as he looked into Harry’s dark eyes and gratefully took the nifty earpiece from his palm. 

“Thank you, Harry,” Peter said earnestly, turning the device in his hands, “You didn’t have to.” 

“I did, actually,” Harry shrugged noncommittally, but Peter knew he was really trying to pretend he wasn’t embarrassed, “Reckless morons like you need all the help you can get.” 

It’d always been Harry’s habit to cover embarrassment with unnecessary snark. Peter smiled, heart warm and fond, and responded cheekily, “Aww, I love you, too.” 

Harry promptly gave him the finger. 

Woo-O-Meter: 70 

-:- 

To be continued… 


End file.
